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. SI KLEGG 


The DEACON’S Adventures at Chatta- 
nooga IN Caring for the BOys. 


By John McElroy. 




PUBLISHED BY 

THE NATIONAL TRIBUNE COMPANY, 
WASHINGTON, D. C. 



' i/ 

SECOND EDITION — ENLARGED AND REVISED. 
COPYRIGHT 1912 

BY THE NATIONAL TRIBUNE COMPANY. 


- : u 



( * 


g,CI.A3i2281 




PREFACE 


''Si Klegg, of the 200th Ind., and Shorty, his 
Partner, were born years ago in the brain of John 
McElroy, Editor of The National Tribune. 

These sketches are the original ones published in 
The National Tribune, revised and enlarged some- 
what by the author. How true they are to nature 
every veteran can abundantly testify from his own 
service. Really, only the name of the regiment was 
invented. There is no doubt that there were several 
men of the name of Josiah Klegg in the Union 
Army, and who did valiant service for the Govern- 
ment. They had experiences akin to, if not identical 
with, those narrated here, and substantially every 
man who faithfully and bravely carried a musket in 
defense of the best Government on earth had some- 
times, if not often, experiences of which those of 
Si Klegg are a strong reminder. 

The Publishers. 


CONTENTS 

PAGE 

Chapter I. — The Deacon Provides; Resorts to Highway 

Robbery and Horse Stealing I 5 

Chapter II. — The Deacon Attempts Restitution; Tries to 

Return the Horse to His Owner 30 

Chapter III. — A Cow in Camp ; the Deacon Has Some Ex- 
periences with the Quadruped 45 

Chapter IV. — The Deacon’s Plan ; Dealing with an Obstruc- 
tion to the Homeward Journey... 59 

Chapter V. — Trouble Encountered; the boys Meet an Old 

Friend and Are Taken Home in a Hurry 71 

Chapter VI. — The Boys in the Old Home on Bean Blos- 
som Creek 84 

Chapter VII. — Weeks of Convalescence; Plenty of Nursing 

from Loving, Tender Hands 95 

Chapter VHI. — Si is Promoted; Annabel Apprised of it; 

Shorty Meets Jerusha 108 

Chapter IX. — Shorty in Trouble; Has an Encounter with 

the Provost-Marshal * 122 

Chapter X. — Shorty as Orderly; Has a Tour of Duty at 

the General’s Headquarters 136 

Chapter XI. — Shorty Runs Headquarters; Gets Entirely too 

Big for His Place 150 

Chapter XII. — Shorty on a Hunt; Goes after Knights of 

the Golden Circle 162 

Chapter XHI. — An Unexpected Meeting; Breaking up a 

Den of Copperheads 176 

Chapter XIV. — Guarding the Knights; Si and Shorty Stand 

Off a Mob at the Jail 193 

Chapter XV. — Off for the Front; Si and Shorty Take 
Charge of a Squad of Recruits 208 


CONTENTS. 


XI 


PAGE 

Chapter XVL — The Troublesome Boys; Si and Shorty’s 

Recruits Enter Kentucky 218 

Chapter XVII. — The Frightened Surgeon; Si and Shorty 

Have a Time with Their Wild, Young Squad 230 

Chapter XVIII. — No Peace for Si and Shorty; the Young- 
sters Keep Them Busy While the Train Moves South.. 242 
Chapter XIX. — The First Scrape; a Little Initiatory Skir- 
mish with the Guerrillas 253 

Chapter XX. — After the Skirmish; Wild Shooting Was All 

That Saved a Surprised Colored Man 268 

Chapter XXL — Chattanooga at Last; Lost in a Maze of 
Railroads Trains ! 279 


ILLUSTRATIONS 


PAGE 

“Who Brought That Cow In?” Asked the Officer. .. .Frontispiece 

“Git Down from There!” Commanded the Deacon 21 

“Well, I’ll be Dumbed,” Muttered the Deacon 35 

“Purty Good Milker, Is She?” Inquired the Deacon 51 

The Deacon Reconnoitered the Situation 63 

In Despair, the Deacon Turned to a Major 77 

“Arabella Curled Her Lip at Seeing Maria Take the Baby”.. 87 

Shorty Went Outside Where There Was More Air loi 

“Sammy,” Said Shorty, “I’m Goin’ Away Right Off, and I~ 

Don’t Want the People to Know Nothin’ of it” 113 

“Why, it’s Shorty !” Said the General, Recognizing Him 

at Once 129 

“What Do You Think oPThat?” Said the Gambler 141 

“Don’t You Know Better Than to Come to Headquarters 

Like That?” 155 

“How Do You Like the Looks of That, Old Butternut?”... 169 
“The Prisoners Had too Much Solicitude About Their Gar- 
ments to Think of Anything Else” 185 

“I Have Come, Sir, in the Name of the People of Indiana, 

to Demand the Release of Those Men” 199 

“I’ll Send You a Catridge and Cap for Every Word You 

Write About Maria” 213 

“Here, You Young Brats, What Are You up to?” 225 

“Smallpox, Your Granny,” Said Si....: 237 

“There Was a Chorus of Yells, and Then Another Volley”.. 247 
Watching the Bridge-Burners at Work 259 

Wild Shooting of the Boys Saves the Surprised Colored 
Man 


273 


THIS BOOK IS RESPECTFULLY DEDICATED 
TO THE RANK AND FILE 

OP THE GRANDEST ARMY EVER MUSTERED FOR WAR. 


THIS IS NUMBER FIVE 
OF THE 

SI KLEGG SERIES. 


SI KLEOQ 


CHAPTER 1. 


THE DEACON PROVIDES — RESORTS TO HIGHWAY ROB- 
BERY AND HORSE STEALING. 

T he Deacon was repaid seventyfold by Si's and 
Shorty's enjoyment of the stew he had pre- 
pared for them, and the extraordinary good 
it had seemed to do them as they lay wounded in 
the hospital at Chattanooga, to which place the 
Deacon had gone as soon as he learned that Si was 
hurt in the battle. 

‘T won't go back on mother for a minute," said 
Si, with brightened eyes and stronger voice, after 
he had drained the last precious drop of the broth, 
and was sucking luxuriously on the bones ; “she kin 
cook chickens better'n any woman that ever lived. 
All the same, I never knowed how good chicken could 
taste before." 

“Jehosephat, the way that does take the wrinjcles 
out down here," said Shorty, rubbing apprecia- 
tively the front of his pantaloons. “I feel as smooth 
as if I'd bin starched and ironed, and there's new 
life clear down to my toe-nails. If me and Si could 
only have a chicken a day for the next 10 days we'd 
feel like goin' up there on the Ridge and bootin' old 
Bragg off the hill. Wouldn’t we. Si?" 


16 


SI KLEGG. 


'‘Guess so/’ acceded Si cheerily, “if every one 
made us feel as much better as this one has. How 
in the world did you git the chicken, Pap?” 

“Little boys should eat what’s set before ’em, and 
ask no questions,” said the father, coloring. “It’s 
bad manners to be pryin’ around the kitchen to find 
out where the vittles come from.” 

“Well, I’ve got. to take off my hat to you as a 
forager,” said Shorty. “A man that kin find a 
chicken in Chattenoogy now, and hold on to it long 
enough to git it in the pot, kin give me lessons in 
the art. When I git strong enough to travel agin I 
want you to learn me the trick.” 

The Deacon did not reply to the raillery. He was 
pondering anxiously about the preservation of his 
four remaining chickens. The good results mani- 
fest from cooking the first only made him more 
solicitous about the others. Several half-famished 
dogs had come prowling around, from no one knew 
where. He dared not kill them in daylight. He 
knew that probably some, if not all, of them had 
masters, and the worse and more dangerous a dog 
is the more bitterly his owner resents any attack 
upon him. Then, even hungrier looking men with 
keen eyes and alert noses wandered near, with in- 
quiry in every motion. He would have liked to take 
Shorty into his confidence, but he feared that the 
ravenous appetite of convalescence would prove too 
much for that gentleman’s continence. 

He kept thinking about it while engaged in what 
he called “doin’ up the chores,” that is, making Si 
and Shorty comfortable for the day, before he lay 
down to take a much-needed rest. He had never 


THE DEACON PROVIDES. 


17 


been so puzzled in all his life. He thought of bury- 
ing them in the ground, but dismissed that be- 
cause he would be seen digging the hole and putting 
them in, and if he should escape observation, the 
dogs would be pretty certain to nose them out and 
dig them up. Sinking them in the creek suggested 
itself, but had to be dismissed for various reasons, 
one being fear that the ravenous catfish would de- 
vour them. 

‘'If I only had a balloon,” he murmured to him- 
self, “I might send 'em up in that. That's the only 
safe way I kin think of. Yes, there's another way. 
I've intended to put a stone foundation under that 
crib, and daub it well, so's to stop the drafts. It 
orter be done, but it's a hard day's work, even with 
help, and I'm mortal tired. But I s'pose it's the 
only way, and I've got to put in stones so big that 
a dog can't pull 'em out.'' 

He secured a couple of negroes, at prices which 
would have paid for highly-skilled labor in Indiana, 
to roll up enough large stones to fill in the space 
under the crib, and then he filled all the crevices 
with smaller ones, and daubed over the whole 
with clay. 

“There,” he said, as he washed the clay from his 
hands, “I think them chickens are safe for to-night 
from the dogs, and probably from the men. Think 
of all that trouble for four footy chickens not worth 
more'n four bits in Injianny. They're as much 
bother as a drove o' steer'd be. I think I kin now 
lay down and take a wink o' sleep.” 

He was soon sleeping as soundly as only a thor- 
oughly-tired man can, and would have slept no one 


18 


SI KLEGG. 


knows how long, had not Shorty succeeded in wak- 
ing him towards morning, after a shaking which 
exhausted the latter’s strength. 

“Wake up. Mister Klegg,” said Shorty; “it must 
’ve bin rainin’ dogs, and they’re tryin’ to tear the 
shanty down.” 

The Deacon rubbed his eyes and listened a mo- 
ment to the clamor outside. It seemed as if there 
were a thousand curs surrounding them, barking, 
howling, snarling, fighting, and scratching. He 
snatched up a club and sprang out, while Shorty tot- 
tered after. He ran into the midst of the pack, and 
began laying about with his strong arms. He broke 
the backs of some, brained others, and sent the 
others yelping with pain and fright, except two par- 
ticularly vicious ones, who were so frenzied with 
hunger that they attacked him, and bit him pretty 
severely before he succeeded in killing them. Then 
he went around to the end of the crib nearest his 
precious hoard, and found that the hungry brutes 
had torn away his clay and even the larger of the 
stones, and nothing but their fighting among them- 
selves had prevented the loss of his chickens. 

“What in tarnation set the beasts onto us,” in- 
quired Shorty wonderingly. “They were wuss’n cats 
around catnip, rats after aniseed, or cattle about a 
spot o’ blood. I’ve felt that me and Si wuz in shape 
to bring the crows and buzzards around, but didn’t 
expect to start the dogs up this way.” 

“I’ve got four chickens hid under the underpinnin’ 
there for you and Si,” confessed the Deacon. “The 
dogs seemed to Ve smelled ’em out and wuz 
after ’em.” 


THE DEACON PROVIDES. 


19 


He went to the hiding place and pulled out the 
fowls one after another. “They are all here/' he 
said; “but how in the world am I goin’ to keep 
'em through another night ?" 

“You ain't a-goin' to keep 'em through another 
night, are you?" asked Shorty anxiously, as he 
gloated over the sight. “Le's eat 'em to-day." 

“And starve to-morrer?" said the thrifty Deacon 
rebukingly. “I don't know where any more is corn- 
in' from. It was hard enough work gittin' these. I 
had calculated on cookin' one a day for you and Si. 
That'd make 'em provide for four more days. After 
that only the Lord knows what we'll do." 

“Inasmuch as we'll have to trust to the Lord at 
last, anyway," said Shorty, with a return of his 
old spirit, “why not go the whole gamut? A day 
or two more or less won't make no difference to Him. 
I feel as if I could eat 'em all myself without Si's 
help." 

“I tell you what I'll do," said the Deacon, after a 
little consideration. “I feel as if both Si and you 
kin stand a little more'n you had yesterday. I'll 
cook two to-day. We'll send a big cupful over to 
Capt. McGillicuddy. That'll leave us two for to-mor- 
rer. After that we'll have to trust to Providence." 

“If ever there was a time when He could use His 
ravens to advantage," said the irreverent Shorty, 
“it's about now. They carried bread and meat to 
that old prophet. There's a lot o' mighty good men 
down here in this valley now in terrible want of 
grub, and nothin' but birds kin git over the roads 
to the rear very well." 


20 


SI KLEGG. 


“Don’t speak lightly o’ the Lord and His ways, 
Shorty,” said the Deacon severely. 

“ ‘Judge not the Lord by feeble sense. 

But trust Him for His grace. 

Behind a frowning Providence 
He hides a smilin’ face,’ 

as the hymn says. Here, take these chickens in 
one hand and this pistol in the other, and guard 
’em while I go down to the branch and wash and 
git some water. Then I’ll cook your breakfast.” 

Again the savory smell of the boiling chickens at- 
tracted sick boys, who begged for a little of the 
precious food. Having double the quantity, the Dea- 
con was a little more liberal, but he had to restrain 
Shorty, who, despite his own great and gnawing 
hunger, would have given away the bigger part of 
the broth to those who so desperately needed it. 

“No, Shorty,” said the prudent Deacon. “Our 
first duty is to ourselves. We kin help them by git- 
tin’ you and Si on your feet. We can’t feed the 
whole Army o’ the Cumberland, though I’d like to.” 

A generous cupful was set aside for Capt. McGilli- 
cuddy, which his servant received with gratitude 
and glowing reports of the good the former supply 
had done him. 

With the daylight came the usual shells from the 
rebel guns on Lookout Mountain. Even the Deacon 
was getting used to this noisy salutation to the 
morn, and he watched the shells strike harmlessly 
in the distance with little tremor of his nerves. 
As the firing ceased, amid the derisive yells of the 
army, he said quietly: 


THE DEACON PROVIDES. 


21 



‘‘GIT DOWN FROM THERE!’' COMMANDED THE DEACON. 




22 


SI KLEGG. 


‘That last shell's saved me a good deal o' work 
diggin'. It tore out a hole that'll just do to bury 
the carcasses of these dogs." 

Accordingly, he dragged the carcasses over after 
breakfast, and threw the dirt back in the hole upon 
them. 

The two remaining chickens were stowed in a 
haversack, and during the day hung outside from 
the ridge-pole of the crib, where they were constantly 
under the eye of either the Deacon or Shorty, who 
took turns watching them. That night the Deacon 
slept with them under his head, though they were 
beginning to turn a little, and their increasing game- 
ness brought a still larger herd of dogs about. But 
the Deacon had securely fastened the door, and he 
let them rage around as they pleased. 

When they were cooked and eaten the next morn- 
ing the Deacon became oppressed with anxious 
thought. Where were the next to come from? The 
boys had improved so remarkably that he was doubly 
anxious to continue the nourishing diet, which he felt 
was necessary to secure their speedy recovery. 
Without it they would probably relapse. 

He could think of nothing but to go back again 
to the valley where he got the chickens, and this 
seemed a most desperate chance, for the moment 
that either of the old couple set eyes on him he or 
she would give the alarm. He went to sleep think- 
ing about the matter, and when he rose up in the 
morning, and had nothing to offer his boys but the 
coarse and uninviting hardtack, pork and coffee, he 
made up his mind to take the chances, whatever 
they might be. He set out again immediately after 


THE DEACON PROVIDES. 


23 


breakfast, and by cutting across the mountain came 
to the entrance to the valley a little after noon. 
Keeping close under cover of the woods, he ap- 
proached within sight of the house, and carefully 
scanned it. What to do he had scarcely planned. 
He was only determined to have some fresh meat 
to take back to camp. He was going to get it as 
honestly and fairly as he could, but fresh meat he 
must have. 

He could see no other house anywhere in the dis- 
tance, and probably if he went farther he would run 
into rebel bushwhackers and guerrillas, who were 
watching from the high ridges. So long as he kept 
under cover of the woods he would feel all right, 
for he was as skilled in woodcraft as any of them, 
and could take care of himself. But if he should 
come out into the open fields and road to cross the 
valley they would have him at an advantage. He 
was confirmed in this fear by seeing several little 
clouds of smoke rise up above the tops of the trees 
on the ridge. 

“There’s a gang of rebels , in camp over there,” 
said he to himself, with a woodman’s quick reading 
of every sign. “That smoke’s from their fires. 
’Tain’t enough of it to be clearin’ ground; people 
ain’t clearin’ up at this time o’ year; that ground 
over there ain’t the kind they’d clear up for any- 
thing. ’Twouldn’t raise white beans if it was 
cleared ; and you don’t hear nobody choppin’.” 

He looked again at the house. Everything was 
very quiet and peaceful around it. There was no 
stock in the barnyard or fields, and the only signs 
of life were the smoke rising from one of the great 


24 


SI KLEGG. 


stone chimneys, the chickens picking and scratching 
in the garden, a couple of negresses, who occa- 
sionlly passed back and forth between the main 
house and another cabin apparently used as a 
kitchen. 

The Deacon had almost made up his mind to 
march boldly down to the house, snatch up a few of 
the chickens, and make his way back to the woods 
again, before the old couple could summon assist- 
ance. Suddenly his quick eyes caught a glimpse of 
something at a point where the road from the ridge 
came down out of the woods. Then that something 
developed into a man on horseback, who rode for- 
ward to a little rise, stopped, and surveyed the 
landscape cautiously, and then rode forward toward 
the house. 

He dismounted and entered the house. In a few 
minutes there appeared unusual bustle and activity, 
during which the man rode back again, munching 
as he went at a piece of cornpone and one of meat, 
which he had gotten at the house, and held in either 
hand, while his reins lay on his horse’s neck. 

The old woman came out into the yard with some 
meat in her hand, and the shrill note of her orders 
to the negresses reached the Deacon’s ears, though 
he could not make out the words. But he saw one 
of them go to the spring and bring water, which 
she poured in a wash-kettle set up in the yard, while 
the old woman prepared the beef and put it in, the 
other negress started a fire, and the old man chopped 
and split wood to put around the kettle and fill the 
stone oven near by. 

'‘They’re cookin’ vittels for them rebels on the 


THE DEACON PROVIDES. 


25 


ridge.^^ The Deacon correctly diagnosed the situa- 
tion. “By-and-by they’ll come for ’em, or take ’em 
to ’em. Mebbe I kin find some way to collar some 
of ’em. It’s a slim chance, but no other seems to 
show up just now. If no more’n one man comes 
for that grub I’m goin’ to jump him.” 

The Deacon looked at the caps on his revolver 
and began laying plans for a strategic advance 
under the cover of the sumachs to a point where he 
could command the road to the house. 

His cheek paled for an instant as the thought ob- 
truded that the man might resist and he have to 
really shoot him. 

'T don’t want to shoot nobody,” he communed 
with himself, ‘‘and it won’t be necessary if the other 
fellow is only sensible and sees that I’ve got the 
drop on him, which I will have before I say a word. 
Anyway, I want that grub for a work of necessity 
and mercy, which justifies many things, and as a 
loyal man I ought to keep it from goin’ to rebels. 
If I’ve got to put a bullet into another feller, why, 
the Lord’ll hold me guiltless and blame the other 
feller. I ain’t no Free Will Baptist. I believe things 
’ve bin foreordained. Wisht I knowed that it was 
foreordained that I was to git that grub back to 
Si and Shorty.” 

Presently he saw the old man come out and take 
a path into the woods. He cautiously circled around 
to where he could follow and watch him. He saw 
him make his way to a secluded little cove, wjiere 
there was a corn-crib partially filled and a rude shel- 
ter, under which were a buckboard and fairly-good 
young horse. The old man began putting the clumsy 


26 


SI KLEGG. 


harness of ropes, chains and patched leather on the 
horse and hitching him to the backboard. 

“Good, the old man’s goin’ to take the grub out 
to ’em himself,” thought the Deacon with relief. 
“He’ll be easy to manage. No need o’ shootin’ him.” 

He hurried back to his covert, and then slipped 
unseen down to where he had selected for his am- 
bush. The old man drove the backboard around 
to the front of the house, and the negresses, obey- 
ing the shrill orders of the old woman, brought 
out pones of smoking cornbread, and buckets, tin 
pans and crocks containing the meat, potatoes, tur- 
nips and other food, and loaded them on to the 
backboard. The fragrance of the food reached the 
Deacon’s nostrils, and made his mouth water and 
fond anticipations rise as to the good it would do 
the boys. 

“I’ll have that grub, and the boys shall have it,” 
he determined, “or there’ll be an Injianny Deacon 
pretty badly used up.” 

The old man mounted into the seat, gathered up 
the rope lines, and chirruped to the horse to start. 

When he came opposite, the Deacon jumped out, 
seized the reins, and pointing his revolver at him, 
commanded sternly: 

“Git down from there, and git down quick.” 

The old man dropped the lines, and for an instant 
gazed at him with scared eyes. 

“Why, yo’ robber, what d’yo’ mean?” he gasped. 

“Git down from there, and git down quick!” 
repeated the Deacon. 

“Why, this is highway robbery, threats, puttin’ 
in bodily fear, attempted murder, hoss-stealin’.” 


THE DEACON PROVIDES. 


27 


‘‘Hain't no time to argy law with you/’ said the 
Deacon impatiently. “This ain’t no court-room. 
You ain’t in session now. Git down, and git down 
quick !” 

“Help! help! murder! robbery! thieves!” shouted 
the old man, at the top of his voice. 

The negresses, who had been watching their mas- 
ter depart, set to screaming, and the old woman 
rushed back into, the house and blew the horn. The 
Deacon thrust his revolver back into the holster, 
caught the old man with his sinewy hand, tore him 
from the seat, and flung him into the fence-corner. 
He sprang into the seat, turned the horse’s head 
toward Chattanooga, and hit him a sharp cut with 
a switch that lay in the wagon. 

“I’ve got about three miles the start,” he said 
as he rattled off. “This horse’s young and fresh, 
while their’s probably run down. The road from 
here to the main road’s tollably good, and I think 
I kin git there before they kin overtake me. 

At the top of the hill he looked back, and saw 
the rebels coming out. Apparently they had not 
understood what had happened. They had seen no 
Yankees and could not have seen the Deacon’s tussle 
with the old man. They supposed that the hoim 
simply meant for them to come in and get their 
dinner, instead of having it taken out to them. All 
this passed through the Deacon’s mind, and he 
chuckled over the additional start it would give him. 

“They won’t And out nothin’ till they git clean 
to the house,” he said. “By that time I’ll be mighty 
nigh the main road. My, but wouldn’t I like to have 
as many dollars as they’ll be mad when they find 


28 


SI KLEGG. 


the Yankee trick that's bin played on 'em, with their 
dinner hauled off into the Union camp." 

He rattled ahead sharply for some time, looking 
back at each top of a hill for his pursuers. They 
did not come in sight, but the main road to Chat- 
tanooga did, and then a new trouble suggested itself. 

“I won't never dare haul this load uncovered 
through camp," he said to himself. ‘‘The first gang 
o' roustabout teamsters that I meet'll take every 
spoonful of the vittles, and I'd be lucky if I have 
the horse and wagon left. I must hide it some 
way. How? That's a puzzler." 

At length a happy idea occurred to him. He 
stopped by a cedar thicket, and with his jack-knife 
cut a big load of cedar boughs, which he piled on 
until every bit of food was thoroughly concealed. 
This took much time, and as he was finishing he 
heard a yell on the hill behind, and saw a squad 
of rebels riding down toward him. He sprang to 
the seat, whipped up his horse, and as he reached 
the main road was rejoiced to see a squad of Union 
cavalry approaching. 

“Here, old man," said the Lieutenant in com- 
mand; “who are you, and what are you doing here?" 

“I'm a nurse in the hospital," answered the Dea- 
con unhesitatingly. “I was sent out here to get 
some cedar boughs to make beds in the hospital. 
Say, there's some rebels out there, cornin' down the 
hill. They saw me and tuk after me. You'll find 
'em right over the hill." 

“That's a pretty slick horse you're driving," said 
the Lieutenant. “Looks entirely too slick to belong 


THE DEACON PROVIDES. 


29 


to Chattanooga. It’s a much better horse than mine. 
Pve a notion” 

‘‘Say, them rebels are just over the hill, I tell 
you,” said the Deacon in a fever of apprehension of 
losing his steed. “They’ll be on top of you in a 
minute if you don’t look out.” 

“Right over the hill, did you say?” said the Lieu- 
tenant, forgetting for the moment the horse. “At- 
tention, there, boys. Look out for the rebels. Ad- 
vance carbines — Forward — trot! I’ll come back di- 
rectly and take another look at that horse.” 

The squad trotted up the hill in the direction the 
Deacon had pointed, and as he drove off as fast as 
he could he heard the spatter of exchanging shots. 

Late in the evening, as he drove off the pontoon 
into Chattanooga and turned to the right toward his 
corn-crib he muttered over to himself : 

“They say that when a man starts down the path 
of sin and crime the road seems greased for his 
swift progress. The other day I begun with petty 
larceny and chicken stealin’. To-day it’s bin high- 
way robbery, premeditated murder, horse stealin’, 
grand larceny, and tellin’ a deliberate lie. What’ll 
I be doin’ this time next week ? I must git that old 
man’s horse and buckboard back to him somehow, 
and pay him for his vittles. But how’m I goin’ 
to do it ? The army’s terribly demoralizin’. I must 
git Si back home soon, or I won’t be fit to associate 
with anybody outside the penitentiary. How kin I 
ever go to the communion table agin ?” 


CHAPTER IL 


THE DEACON ATTEMPTED RESTITUTION — TRIED TO 
RETURN THE HORSE TO HIS OWNER. 

S I AND SHORTY were on the anxious lookout 
for the Deacon when he arrived, and not a 
little worried lest something might have be- 
fallen him. 

Si’s weakness made him peevish and fretful, and 
Shorty was not a great deal better. 

“It’s an awful risk to have an old man and a 
civilian come down here into camp,” Si complained. 
“And he oughtn’t to go about alone. He’s always 
been used to mingling with the quiet, honest, re- 
spectable people. Up home the people are as hon- 
est as the day is long. They’re religious and peace- 
able, and Pap’s never knowed no other kind. He 
wouldn’t harm nobody for the world, and none o’ 
them’d harm him. He’s only a child among these 
toughs down here. I wisht one of us was able to be 
with him all the time.” 

“That father o’ yours is certainly quite an inno- 
cent old party,” Shorty answered, consolingly, “and 
the things he don’t know about army life’d make 
more’n a pamphlet. But he has a way of wakin’ 
up to the situation that is sometimes very surprisin’. 
I wisht I was able to go about with him, but I 
think he’s fully able to take care o’ himself 
around in camp. There’s always somebody about 
who won’t see an old man and a citizen imposed 


ATTEMPTED RESTITUTION. 


31 


on. But what I’m afraid of is that he’s wandered 
out in the country, huntin’ for somethin’ for us to 
eat, and the guerrillas’ve got him.” 

And he and Si shuddered at the thought of that 
good old man in the hands of the merciless scoun- 
drels who infested the mountains and woods beyond 
the camps. 

“Yes,” mourned Si, “Pap’s likely to mosey out into 
the country, jest like he would on Bean Blossom 
Crick, and stop at the first house he come to, and 
set down with ’em on the porch, and talk about the 
weather, and the crops, and the measles in the neigh- 
borhood, and the revivals, and the price o’ pork and 
corn, and whether they’d better hold their wheat 
till Spring, and who was cornin’ up for office, and 
all the time the bushwhackers’ d be sneakin’ up on 
him, an’ him know no more ’bout it than where the 
blackbirds was roostin’. He’s jest that innocent and 
unsuspiciouslike.” 

“If they’ve ketched him,” said Shorty fiercely, 
“we’ll find out about it, and when we git able, we’ll 
go out there and kill and burn everything for five 
miles around. I’ll do it, if I have to spend the rest 
o’ my life at hard labor on the Dry Tortugas.” 

They heard the rattle of light wheels on the 
frozen ground outside, and the hoof-beats of a 
quickly-moving horse. 

“Buggy or spring-wagon,” muttered Si with a 
farmer boy’s instinctive interpretation of such 
sounds. “What’s it doin’ in camp? Strange horse. 
In better condition than any around here.” 

The vehicle* stopped in front of the corn-crib at 
the Deacon’s command, “Whoa!” 


32 


SI KLEGG. 


“Gracious — there’s Pap now,” ejaculated Si, with 
whom memory went in a bound to the many times he 
had listened for his father’s coming and heard that 
order. 

“Hello, boys,” called out the Deacon. “How are 
you? Shorty, come out here.” 

Shorty sprang up with something of his old-time 
alacrity, and Si made an effort to rise, but was too 
weak. 

“Throw a piece o’ that fat pine on the fire. 
Shorty,” said the Deacon, “and let’s see what I’ve 
got.” 

By the light of the blazing pine, the Deacon pulled 
off the cedar boughs and developed his store. The 
boughs had kept in the heat, so that the food was 
not yet quite cold, though it had a resinous flavor, 
from its covering. The Deacon broke one of the 
cornpones in two and gave half of it to Shorty, with 
as much as he thought he should have of the meat 
and vegetables. Then he fed Si, who relished the 
new diet almost as much as he had relished the 
chicken broth. The Deacon made a hearty supper 
himself, and then stored away the rest in his 
“cellar” under the crib, rolling up some more large 
stones as an additional precaution. 

“Well, you beat me,” said Shorty admiringly, as 
he studied over the Deacon’s booty. “I used to think 
I was as slick a forager as there was in the army, 
but I simply ain’t in the same class with a man that 
kin go out in this Sahara Desert o’ starvation and 
bring in a four-year-old horse and a wagon-load o’ 
cooked vittles. I’d net even see the distance 
pole runnin’ with him. Gen. Rosecrans ought to 


ATTEMPTED RESTITUTION. 


33 


know you. He'd appoint you Commissary-General 
o' the army at once. When I get a little stronger 
I want you to take me out and learn me the ABC's 
o' foragin'. To think that me and Si wuz grievin' 
about your being ketched by the guerrillas. What 
fools we wuz. It wuz lucky for the guerrillas that 
you didn't run acrost 'em, for you'd a ketched 'em, 
instid o' 'em you." 

“That's what I come purty nigh doin'," chuckled 
the Deacon. “But what in the world 'm I goin' 
to do with that boss and buckboard? I must hunt 
around and find that poor beast some corn for to- 
night. He's bin driven purty sharp, and he needs 
his supper jest as bad as I did mine, and I won't 
feel right unless he has it. Then I must try to git 
him back to his ov/ner ter-morrer." 

“If he's here to-morrer," said Shorty, looking at 
the animal carefully, “it'll be a miracle. That's too 
good a boss to be kept in this camp by anybody 
lower'n a Brigadier-General. The boy'll steal him, 
the Captains take him, the Colonels seize him, and 
the Brigadier-Generals appropriate him for the Gov- 
ernment's service. They'll call it by different names, 
but the horse goes all the same. I don't see how 
you're goin' to keep him till mornin'. You can't put 
him in your cellar. If they don't steal him, it's be- 
cause it's too dark to see him. I'm sorry to say 
there's an awful lot o' thieves in the Army o' the 
Cumberland." 

And Shorty looked very grieved over the deplor- 
able lack of regard in the army for the rights of 
property. He seemed to mourn this way for several 
minutes, and then broke out with : 


34 


SI KLEGG. 


''Say, Mr. Klegg, Fve an idee. That Quartermas- 
ter o’ the Maumee Muskrats is a sport from way 
back. He’d give his very eyes for a good boss — 
one that kin beat everybody else’s. The way the 
horses are run down now this one kin carry a 
heavy handicap, and beat any one in camp. I’ll bet 
I kin take this hoss over to him and git $150 in 
greenbacks for him, for he kin win a bushel o’ money 
with him the very first day.” 

"Shorty,” said the Deacon, in a tone that made 
that worthy start, "needcessity and the stress o’ cir- 
cumstances may force me to do many things which 
are agin my conscience, and for which I shall repent 
in sackcloth and ashes, if needs be, but I hain’t yit 
bin reduced to sellin’ stolen property. The Lord 
save me from that. That hoss and wagon’s got to 
go back to the owner, if I risk my life in takin’ 
’em.” 

Shorty wisely kept his reply to himself, but he 
thought how absurd it was to have men about the 
army who were too old and set in their ideas to 
learn army ways. He muttered to himself : 

"If he succeeds in gittin’ that hoss outen camp 
agin. I’ll expect to see the back o’ my neck, or some- 
thing else quite as wonderful.” 

The Deacon finally succeeded in getting a couple 
of ears of corn and a handful of fodder for the 
horse’s supper, and it was decided that Shorty 
should watch him the first part of the night, and 
the Deacon from thence till morning. 

As the Deacon pondered over the matter in the 
early morning hours, he saw that his only chance 


ATTEMPTED RESTITUTION. 


35 



“WELL, I’LL BE DUMBED,” MUTTERED THE DEACON. 


S6 


SI KLEGG. 


of getting the horse back was to start with him be- 
fore daylight revealed him to the men in camp. 

“I'll drive him well outside our lines, and as near 
to the house as I think it prudent to go, and then 
turn him loose," he said to himself. “If he's got the 
sense o' the horses up North he'll go straight home, 
and then my conscience will be clear. If he don't. 
I'll have done all I could. The Lord don't ask un- 
reasonable things of us, even in atonement." 

So he cooked as good a breakfast for the boys 
as he could prepare from his materials, woke up 
Shorty and put him in charge, and an hour before 
daybreak turned the horse's head toward the pon- 
toon bridge, and started him on a lively trot. 

He had only fairly started when a stern voice 
called out to him from a large tent : 

“Here, you, stop that trotting. What do you 
mean? Don’t you know that it's strictly against 
orders to trot horses in their present condition?” 

“Excuse me. Captain," said the Deacon. “I” 

“Blank your Captain," roared the voice; “I'm no 
Captain.” 

“Major," said the Deacon deprecatingly. 

“To thunder with your Majors, you ignorant fool. 
You" 

“I beg your pardon. Colonel. I was" 

“What's the matter with you, you ignoramus?" 
roared the voice, more indignantly than ever. “Don’t 
you know Brigade Headquarters when you see 
them? Don’t you know your own officers when you 
hear their voices?" 

“Rayly, General," said the Deacon, much dis- 


ATTEMPTED RESTITUTION. 


37 


turbed, “I didn’t mean to insult you. I’m only a 
citizen, and a stranger in the camp, and” 

“A citizen and a stranger,” echoed the voice. 
‘‘What are you doing in here, anyway? Orderly, 
bring that man in here till I see him.” 

The Orderly started to obey, when a regiment 
which had been ordered to report at Headquarters 
came up at quick step, halted, and ordered arms 
with much clatter. The frightened horse bounded 
off down the road, with the Deacon sawing on the 
lines and trying to stop him. 

He only slowed down when he came up near a 
corral of other horses, to which he turned for com- 
panionship and sympathy. 

'Trosty mornin’ makes that boss purty frisky,” 
said the Deacon, as he readjusted his hat, and got 
himself in shape after his jolting. ‘‘Lucky, though. 
1 didn’t like that old General’s voice. I’m afraid he 
had it in for me, and would ’ve made me trouble 
for lowerin’ his dignity by callin’ him Captain. Big 
officers are awfully tetchy.” 

“Here, who are you ? And what are you doin’ out 
there?” came the stem inquiry from the dark depths 
of one of the sheds. 

“Excuse me. General,” answered the Deacon 
hastily, “I” 

“General? Who are you callin’ General, you fool? 
Don’t try to be funny with me. You know I’m no 
General.” 

“I meant Colonel,” the Deacon started to explain. 

“The blazes you did. You expect Colonels to run 
hoss-corrals, and manage mule boarding-houses, do 


38 


SI KLEGG. 


you? Stop your blimmed nonsense and answer my 
questions/' 

“Major, I was tryin' to say" 

“I’ll Major you when I git my boots on and git out 
there. Don’t think to shut my eye up callin’ me big 
titles.’’ 

“But, Captain,’’ 

“I’m no Captain, neither. I’m plain Jim Crim- 
mins, Quartermaster-Sergeant, in charge o’ this cor- 
ral, that you’re stealin’ around. I’m cornin’ out 
there to break every bone in your body. You in- 
fernal sneaks ’ve pestered the life out o’ me stealin’ 
my corn and my mules, even. I’ve bin watchin’ 
you piroutin’ around in the dark for a long time. 
I’m goin’ to stop this business if I’ve got to kill 
every thievin’ varmint in the Army o’ the Cumber- 
land. Don’t you dare move till I come out, or I’ll 
put a bullet through you. Do you hear?’’ 

“I don’t believe I’ve got any more time to waste 
on that bellerin’ bull-calf,’’ said the Deacon to him- 
self. He gathered up the lines, turned the horse’s 
head toward the road, and gave him a lick with a 
switch, and he dashed off, followed by a couple of 
shots from Mr. Crimmins, to give color and con- 
firmation to the story that worthy related later in 
the day of a particularly audacious attempt on the 
part of Sneak thieves to get away with his mules 
and corn, and which was frustrated by his vigilance 
and daring. 

As the horse slowed down to a walk again a Ser- 
geant of the Guard at the head of a squad stepped 
out and took him by the reins. 


ATTEMPTED RESTITUTION. 


39 


“Here, who are you, and where are you going so 
early in the morning?” he inquired. 

“My name’s Josiah Klegg, sir,” said the Deacon, 
prudently ignoring titles. “I’m from Injianny, and 
am down here ’tendin’ to my son, who belongs to 
Co. Q, 200th Injianny Volunteers, and who was shot 
at Chickamaugy. I borryed this hoss and wagon 
from a man out in the country to bring in some 
vittles for him and his pardner, and some boughs 
for ’em to sleep on, and I’m takin’ ’em back to him.” 

“Well, that story may be true, and it mayn’t. 
Probably it ain’t. Men don’t get up before daybreak 
to take back borrowed horses. You’re up to some 
devilment; probably taking information or contra- 
band out to the rebels. I haven’t time now to in- 
vestigate. I’ll put you under guard until I have. 
As for the horse, we’ve got use for him. McCook’s 
Cavalry needs about a thousand such as he. We’re 
out lookin’ for horses now. Unhitch him, boys.” 

The Deacon started to make an earnest protest, 
but at that moment the rebels on Lookout Mountain 
made their usual daylight salute to the camp. The 
size of the squad had attracted their attention, and 
a shell shrieked over and struck quite near. This 
was too much for the nervous horse. He made a 
convulsive leap, which scattered the guards around 
him and almost threw the Deacon out of the seat. 
When the latter recovered himself, and got the horse 
under control again the guards were far away, and 
he was at the approach to the pontoon bridge. 

“I’ll be plagued,” mused the Deacon, as the horse 
moved over the bridge at a slow walk, and gave 
him time to think, “the army’s a terrible place. I 


40 


SI KLEGG. 


had no sort o’ trouble when I was doin’ something 
that mebbe I oughtn’t to have done, but the minute 
I start out to do a right thing I meet no end o’ diffi- 
culties. But these are the obstacles that Satan al- 
ways puts in the way of the righteous. I’m goin’ 
to git this boss back to its owner, or know the rea- 
son why. Git up, there.” 

He soon came to a piece of the road which was in 
full view of the rebels on Lookout Mountain. They 
had been preparing the day before to stop all travel 
by that route, and the Deacon’s was the first ve- 
hicle that had appeared since they had got their 
guns planted. They waited until he was fairly out 
into the open, and sent a shell which struck a panel 
of the fence off to the left, burst with a crash, and 
sent rails, chunks, stones and pieces of brush fly- 
ing through the air. The horse became frantic, and 
tore up the hill at such a rate the buckboard and 
harness speedily went to pieces, and the Deacon was 
flung in the ditch, while the horse galloped wildly 
over the hill. 

The Union artillerymen on Moccasin Point had 
evidently anticipated just such an attempt on the 
part of the rebels. Instantly a score of guns which 
had been placed to cover that spot thundered out, 
and their shells could be seen striking and tearing 
up the ground all around where the shot came from. 
Other rebel guns came to the assistance of the first 
one; the Union batteries within reach started in 
to help their side, and in a minute the whole country 
was shaking with the uproar. 

‘'Well, I’ll be dumbed,” muttered the Deacon, 
crawling out of the ditch, shaking himself together 


ATTEMPTED RESTITUTION. 


41 


again, cleaning off the mud, and trying to compre- 
hend what was happening. ‘^Did anybody ever see 
sich a commotion kicked up over one four-year-old 
boss, and not a particularly good boss at that? ’T’d 
take a mighty smart man to git as much as $100 for 
him up in Posey County. Nobody but a Methodist 
Elder could do it. Fve sold a better boss than that 
for $80, and got all he was worth.'’ 

He stood for a few minutes and looked at the 
grand display until the Union batteries, satisfied 
that they had finally quashed the impudent rebel, 
ceased firing, and then he looked around. 

“Well, that buckboard’s done for. I can’t take it 
back. It’s only good for kindlin’ wood now. But 
I may ketch the boss and take him back.” 

He went up on top of the hill, and saw the horse 
standing under a tree, apparently pondering over 
what had happened, and wondering whether he 
should run farther or remain where he was. 

The horse gave him a glad whinney of recogni- 
tion, as if congratulating him on escaping from the 
crash of matter. 

“Yes, you beast,” snorted the Deacon; “I’m safe, 
but no thanks to you. You done your best to kick 
my brains out. Twice your condemned heels jest 
grazed my eyebrows. All the thanks I git for tryin’ 
to save you from being starved to death there in 
Chattanoogy, and git you back home. But you go 
back home all the same.” ' 

He led the horse to a rock, mounted him, and 
started up the road. He reached the point where 
the road to the house turned off, and was debating 
whether he should go farther or turn the horse loose 


42 


SI KLEGG. 


there, when he saw a company of cavalry coming 
up the main road from the other direction — that 
toward Bridgeport. Though they wore blue over- 
coats, he had learned enough about army life to 
not trust this implicitly, so he prudently rode into 
the woods to watch them until he could make sure. 
The company came up to where the roads parted, 
and he overheard a man who rode by the Captain at 
the head, and who wore a semi-soldier costume and 
seemed to be a scout or guide, tell the Captain : 

“Their camp’s right over there on that ridge 
(pointing to the crest on which the Deacon had seen 
the smoke). They’re probably on the lookout for 
us, and we’ll have to be very careful if we get near 
enough to jump them. I thought I saw one of their 
lookouts about here when we came up. Yes, there 
he is in there.” 

The Deacon had started to ride boldly toward 
them when he was sure they were Union troops, and 
a couple of the men, who in their dealings with 
bushwhackers had learned that it is best to shoot 
first and ask questions afterward, had promptly 
fired, and cut twigs uncomfortably near the Dea- 
con’s head. His horse plunged, but he kept him 
in hand and called out : 

“Hold on! Hello! Don’t do that. I’m a friend. 
I’m from Injianny.” 

“You’re a devil of a way from home, and in a 
bad neighborhood,” said one of the men who had 
fired, as he slipped another cartridge into his 
Sharpe’s. 

The Captain interrogated him as to who he was 
and what he was doing out there, while the scout 


ATTEMPTED RESTITUTION. 


43 


fidgeted in his saddle over the time that was being 
wasted. / 

'‘Captain,” said the scout finally, “we must hustle 
if we’re going to strike those fellers before dark. 
We can’t go down here, but’ll have to make a long 
circuit around, so they won’t see us.” 

“That’s so,” said the Captain, adjusting himself 
to start. 

“Captain,” said one of the men, “my horse can’t 
go any farther. He’s been in bad shape, and he 
fell and broke his knee coming up the hill.” 

“Well, here, take that citizen’s horse. Old man, 
get off, and let this man have that horse.” 

The Deacon started to protest, but the man was 
in a hurry, and almost pulled him off, and slapped 
his own saddle on in a flash. 

“But what am I do to?” asked the Deacon be- 
wildered. 

“Do? Do as you please,” laughed the Captain. 
“You are as well off here as anywhere. When a 
man’s away from home one place’s the same’s an- 
other to him. Here, I’ll tell you what you can do. 
See that cow back there? The boys have been 
trailing her along, in hopes to get her into Chat- 
tanooga and make beef of her. We’ve got to leave 
her now, for we are going on the jump. We’ll 
make you a present of her and this broken-down 
horse. That’ll start you in business: A horse and 
a cow’s a big start for any man. Good-by. Atten- 
tion, company! Forward, head of column right — 
March!” 

“Well, I’ve done all I could,” said the Deacon, 
going back and picking up the rope which was tied 


44 


SI KLEGG. 


to the cow’s horns. ‘'The Lord knows Fve tried 
hard enough to git that boss back. The cow looks 
as if she’s a good milker. A little milk’ll do the 
boys good. Then, they kin have fresh beef. Come 
along, Bos.” 

Late at night he tied the cow to the corn-crib 
and went to his weary bed. 


CHAPTER III. 


A COW IN CAMP — THE DEACON HAS SOME EXPERI- 
ENCES WITH THE QUADRUPED. 

I T DID not seem that so many dangers beset 
the possession of a cow as of a horse, yet the 
Deacon prudently rose while it was yet dark to 
look after the animal. 

He was none too soon, for there were getting to be 
thousands of very hungry men in Chattanooga who 
remembered the axiom about the early bird catch- 
ing the worm, and thought the best time for '‘snatch- 
ing’’ something was in the dark just before reveille. 
If they could find nothing better, and too often they 
did not, they would rob the mules of their scanty 
rations of corn, and soon a mule’s feed-box had to be 
as carefully guarded as the commissary tent of the 
Headquarters mess. 

These morning prowlers were as cunning as rats 
in finding their prey, and the only security that a 
man had of keeping his rations till morning was 
to eat them up before he went to bed. Their sharp 
eyes had not failed to notice the signs of unusual 
plenty about the Deacon’s corn-crib, and they gave 
it earnest attention. 

The Deacon had slipped out very quietly, and 
taken a little turn around the end of the crib, to 
see that his other provisions had not been disturbed, 
before he approached the cow. As he did so he saw 
a figure squatted beside her, and heard a low voice 
say: 


46 


SI KLEGG. 


“So, Bos! H’ist, Lady! H’ist up, you measly 
heifer !” 

“Well, I declare to goodness,” gasped the Deacon. 
“How could they’ve found her out so soon?” 

He walked quietly up to the milker, and remarked : 

“Purty early in the mornin’ to do your milkin’. 
Didn’t used to git up so early when you was at home, 
did you?” 

“Sh — sh — sh !” whispered the other. “Don’t speak 
so loud. You’ll wake up that old galoot inside. Keep 
quiet till I fill my cup, and then I’ll let you have a 
chance. There’ll be plenty for you.” 

“Purty good milker, is she?” inquired the Deacon 
with interest. 

“Naw !” whispered the other. “She’s got her bag 
full, but she won’t give down worth a cent.” 

“Better let me try my hand,” said the Deacon. 
“You’ve bin away from the farm for so long you’ve 
probably lost the knack. I’m a famous milker.” 

“You’ll play fair?” said the milker doubtfully. 

“Yes; just hold her till I go inside and git my 
bucket, and I’ll milk your cup clean full,” answered 
the Deacon, starting inside the corn-crib. 

“Well, you’re a cool one,” gasped the milker, real- 
izing the situation. “But I’ll hold you to your bar- 
gain, and I’ll play fair with you.” 

The Deacon came back with his bucket, and after 
filling the man’s cup as full as it would hold, handed 
it to him, and then began drawing the rest into 
his own bucket. 

Careful milker that he was, he did not stop until 
he had stripped the last drop, and the cow, knowing 


A COW IN CAMP. 


47 


at once that a master hand was at her udder, will- 
ingly yielded all her store. 

“There, said the Deacon, “if anybody gits 
any more out o’ her till evenin’ he’s welcome to it.” 

Two or three other men had come up in the mean- 
while with their cups, and they started, without 
so much as asking, to dip their cups in. 

“Hold on!” commanded the first-comer sternly. 
“Stop that! This old man’s a friend o’ mine, and 
I won’t see him imposed on. Go somewhere else 
and git your milk.” 

A wordy war ensued, but the first-comer was stal- 
wart and determined. The row waked up Shorty, 
who appeared with an ax. 

“All right,” said one of the men, looking at the ax; 
“keep your durned old milk, if you’re so stingy to- 
ward hungry soldiers. It’ll give you milk-sick, any- 
way. There’s lots o’ milk-sick ’round here. All the 
cows have it. That cow has it bad. I kin tell by 
her looks. We had lots o’ milk-sick in our neigh- 
borhood, and I got real well-acquainted with it. I 
kin tell a milk-sick cow as fur as I kin see her, and 
if that cow hasn’t it, no one ever had it.” 

He made a furtive attempt to kick the bucket 
over, which was frustrated by the Deacon’s watch- 
fulness. 

“Better do something with that cow right off,” ad- 
vised the first-comer, as he walked off. “You can’t 
keep her in camp all day. Somebody’ll git her away 
from you if they have to take her by main force.” 

“Are you willin’ to risk the milk-sick?” asked the 
Deacon, handing Shorty a cupful of the milk, to- 
gether with a piece of cornpone. 


48 


SI KLEGG. 


“Yum — yum, I should say so,'' mumbled that long- 
legged gentleman. “I’ll make the milk sicker'in it 
kin me, you bet. Jest bring along all the milk-sick 
you've got on hand, and I'll keep it from hurtin' 
anybody else. That’s the kind of a philanthropist 
I am." 

“I see you've got a cow here,” said a large man 
wearing a dingy blue coat with a Captain’s faded 
shoulder-straps. “I'm a Commissary, and it’s my 
duty to take her.” 

He walked over and in a businesslike way began 
unfastening the rope. The Deacon shuddered, for 
he had too much respect for shoulder-straps to think 
of resisting. Shorty looked up from his breakfast, 
scanned the newcomer, and said: 

“Look here. Bill Wiggins, you go back and take 
off that Captain’s coat as quick as you kin, or I’ll 
have you arrested for playin' officer. None o' you 
Maumee Muskrats kin play that little game on the 
200th Injianny. We know you too well. And let 
me advise you, Mr. Wiggins, the next time you go 
out masqueradin' to make up clean through. That 
private’s cap and pantaloons burned around the 
back, and them Government cow-hides give you dead 
away, if your mug didn’t. If they wuz givin' com- 
missions away you wouldn’t be a brevet Corporal. 
Skip out, now, for here comes the Provost-Guard, 
and you'd better not let him catch you wearin' an 
officer's coat unless you want to put in some extra 
time on the breastworks.” 

Mr. Wiggins made off at once, but he had scarcely 
gotten out of sight when a mounted officer, attracted 
by the strange sight of a cow in camp, rode up 


A COW IN CAMP. 


49 


and inquired whence she came and to whom she be- 
longed. 

The Deacon was inside the crib taking care of 
Si, and the burden of the conversation fell upon 
Shorty. 

‘‘Me any my pardner sent out into the country 
and bought that cow,'' he said, “with three $10 gold 
pieces we've bin savin' up ever since we’ve bin in 
the service. We wouldn't give 'em for anything else 
in the world. But we wuz jest starved for a drink 
o' fresh milk. Never felt so hungry for anything 
else in our lives. Felt that if we could jest git a 
fillin' o' fresh milk it’d make us well agin.” 

“Paid $30 in gold for her,” said the officer, exam- 
ining the cow critically. “Pretty high price for that 
kind of a cow.” 

“Well, I don't know about that,” answered Shorty 
argumentatively, and scenting a possible purchaser. 
“Good fresh cows are mighty scarce anywhere at 
this time o' year, and particularly in this region. 
Next Spring they'll be much cheaper. But not this 
one. That's no ordinary cow. If you'll look care- 
fully at her you'll see that she's a thoroughbred. 
I'm a boss judge o' stock myself, and I know. Look 
at her horns, her bag, and her lines. She's full 
three-quarters Jersey.” 

“What's the other quarter,” asked the officer, 
much amused. 

“Jest — jest — ^jest — cow,” answered Shorty, mo- 
mentarily stumped for once in his volubility. And 
then he went on more garrously than ever, to make 
amends. “She's as gentle as a lamb, will live on 
two ears o' corn and a kind word a day, and give 


50 


SI KLEGG. 


two gallons o' milk, nearly all cream. Me and my 
pardner wouldn’t take $100 in gold for that cow. 
We’re goin’ to send her up home as soon as the lines 
are open, to start our stock-farm with.” 

'‘Where did you say you got her?” said the officer, 
getting off his horse and going up closer to examine 
the animal. 

“0, we bought her from a man named Wilson 
over in the Sequatchie Valley. You must’ve heard 
of him. We’ve knowed him a long time — before he 
moved down here from Injianny. Runs a fine stock- 
farm. Cried like a baby when he parted with his 
cow. Wouldn’t have done it, but he had to have the 
money to buy provisions for his family.” 

“Let me see,” said the officer, looking at him. 
“Seems to me I ought to know you. Where do you 
belong?” 

“Co. Q, 200th Injianny Volunteers.” 

“I thought so. I do know you. You are Shorty. 
I don’t want to say anything against your honesty 
or your veracity, but if Gen. Rosecrans was to order 
me to get him the smartest forager and smoothest 
liar in the Army of the Cumberland, I think I should 
order you to report at Headquarters.” 

“You do me proud,” said Shorty with a grin, but 
an inward feeling that trouble was impending. 

“Now, tell me the truth. Where did you get that 
cow ?” 

“I have bin tellin’ you the truth,” protested 
Shorty with an injured air. “Why should I tell you 
a lie about a little thing like a cow?” 

“You are not within a mile of the truth. I know 
it. Look here: I believe that is Gen. Rosecrans’s 


A COW IN CAMP. 


51 



‘^PURTY GOOD MILKER, IS SHE?” INQUIRED 
THE DEACON. 


52 


SI KLEGG. 


own COW. She^s gone/ and I got an order to look 
around for her. I’ve never seen her, but from the 
description given me I believe that’s she. Who 
brought her here?” 

“Great Jehosephat, he’s after the Deacon,” 
thought Shorty with a shudder. “I mustn’t let him 
git him.” Then he spoke out boldly : 

‘T brung her here.” 

“Shorty,” said the officer with a smile, “I admire 
your talents for prevarication more than I can ex- 
press. As a good, off-hand, free-going, single-gaited 
liar you have few equals and no superiors. Your 
lies usually have so much probability in them that 
they seem better than the truth — for your purposes. 
But this has no probability whatever in it. I doubt 
if you are able to walk to Headquarters. If you 
were well and strong, I should believe you quite 
capable not only of stealing the cow from Army 
Headquarters, but President Lincoln’s cow from the 
back-door of the White House. But you are good 
now because you haven’t strength enough to be up 
to any devilment. Now, tell me, who brought that 
cow here?” 

“I brung her here myself, I tell you. I felt un- 
usually peart last night. Felt that I had to snatch 
something jest to keep my hand in, like. Couldn’t 
find nothin’ else on four legs worth takin’, and 
couldn’t take nothin’ that couldn’t walk. So I took 
her. You kin send me to the guard-house if you 
want to. I expect I deserve it.” 

And Shorty tried to look contrite and penitent. 

“Yes; you’re in nice shape to send to the guard- 
house. I’d sent you there quick enough if you were 


A COW IN CAMP. 


53 


well, for telling me such a preposterous lie. You’ve 
usually paid more respect to my intelligence by 
telling me stories that I copld believe if I wanted 
to, as I usually wanted do ; but this is too much.” 

As the conversation began the Deacon had passed 
out with a bucket to go to the creek for water for 
the cow. He now came back, set the bucket down 
in front of the cow, and began, from force of long 
habit in caring for his stock, to pick off some burs, 
and otherwise groom her. 

'‘Say, my friend,” said the officer, "who brought 
that cow in?” 

Shorty had been frantically trying to catch the 
Deacon’s eye, and was making all manner of winks 
and warning gestures without avail, for the Deacon 
answered frankly: 

"I brung her in.” 

"You’re just the man I’m looking for,” returned 
the officer. Then turning to a Sergeant who had 
just come up at the end of a squad, he said: 

"Here, Sergeant, take charge of this citizen and 
this cow, and bring them both up to Army Head- 
quarters. Don’t let that citizen get away from you. 
He’s a slick one.” 

As they moved off. Shorty bolted into the crib and 
shouted : 

"Great Jehosephat, Si, that dad of your’n ’s a 
goner! He’s got nerve that looms up like Lookout 
Mountain! He’s a genius! He’s got git-up and git 
to spare! What do you think he done last night? 
Walked up to Gen. Rosecrans’s Headquarters, and 
stole the General’s cow right from under the noses 
o’ the Headquarters Guards, and brung her down 


54 


£1 KLEGG. 


here and milked her. Did you ever hear o* sich 
snap? I only wisht that me and you was half the 
man that he is, old as he is. The only trouble is 
that he isn’t as good a hider as he is on the take. 
They’ve dropped on to him, and they’re now takin’ 
him up to Headquarters. But he’ll find some way 
to git off. There’s no end to that man. And to think 
that we’ve bin playin’ him right along for a hay- 
seed.” 

And Shorty groaned in derision of his own 
acumen. 

“Pop stole Gen. Rosecrans’s cow from Headquar- 
ters? They’ve arrested him and are taking him up 
there?” ejaculated Si in amazement. “I don’t be- 
lieve a word of it.” 

“Well, the cow was here. He brung her here last 
night, and owned up to it. He milked her, and you 
drunk some of the milk. The Provost-Guard’s now 
walkin’ the cow and him up to Headquarters. These 
are early mornin’ facts. You kin believe what you 
dumbed please.” 

“Pap arrested and taken to Army Headquarters,” 
groaned Si, in deepest anxiety. “What in the world 
will they do with him?” 

“0, don’t worry,” said Shorty cheerfully. 

“Your dad ain’t as green as you are, if he has 
lived all his life on the Wabash. He’s as fly as 
you make ’em. He’s Axin’ up some story as he goes 
along that’ll git him out of the scrape slick as a 
whistle. Trust him.” 

“Shorty,” said Si severely, “my father don’t fix 
up stories. Understand that. He’s got some explan- 
ation for this. Depend upon it.” 


A COW IN CAMP. 


55 


^'They call it explanation when it gits a feller out, 
and blamed lie when it don’t,” muttered Shorty to 
himself, as he went out again, to follow the squad 
as far as he could with his eyes. “Anyway, I’ll 
bet on the Deacon.” 

The squad arrived before Headquarters, and the 
officer dismounted and went in. Early as it was he 
found the indefatigable Rosecrans at work with his 
staff and clerks. 

“General, I’ve found your cow, and got the man 
who took her,” said the officer. 

“Good,” said the General joyfully. “Now we’ll 
have some fresh milk again. I can give up anything 
cheerfully, rather than fresh milk. Say you’ve got 
the thief, too?” continued the General, relapsing 
into one of his testy moods. “Put the rascal at the 
hardest labor you can find. I’ll give him a lesson 
that stealing from Headquarters don’t pay. The 
rascals in my army seem to think that I and every- 
thing I have belongs to them as much as it does to 
me. But I’ll draw the line at my cow and my horses. 
They can steal everything else but them. Hold on a 
minute. I’ll go out and see if it’s really my cow.” 

“Yes, that is she; glad to see you back, Missy,” 
said the General, patting the cow on the back. 
“Take her back and give her a good feed, if you 
can find it, for probably she’s pretty hungry.” 

Then turning to the Deacon : 

“You old rascal, you’ll steal the General’s cow, 
will you? Fond of thorobred stock, are you? And 
a citizen, too. Well, I’ll see whether a month of 
hard work on the fortifications won’t cure you of 
your fancy for blooded cattle.” 


56 


SI KLEGG. 


“Look here, Gen. Rosecrans,'' said the Deacon 
firmly, “I didn’t steal your cow, and I won’t allow 
you nor no other man to say so. I’m an honest 
man, or at least I’ve always passed for one at home. 
I was out over the river yesterday, tryin’ to git 
a boss back to his owner, and a Captain of a cavalry 
company come along and took my boss away, and 
give me this cow in exchange. He said his men’d 
got the cow down the road apiece, and that’s all 
I know of her.” 

“A very likely story,” sneered several of the 
staff. 

“Let me see,” said the General, who prided him- 
self on remembering names and faces. “Haven’t I 
met you before? Aren’t you from Indiana?” 

“Yes, sir; from Posey County.” 

“And you’ve got a son in one of the regiments ?” 

“Yes, sir. Corporal Si Klegg, Co. Q, 200th In- 
jianny Volunteers. Him and his partner Shorty 
wuz bady wounded, and I come down here to take 
care of ’em. I’ve bin moseyin’ around out in the 
country tryin’ to find something for ’em to eat, and 
the other day I — borryed a boss, which I was tryin’ 
to take back, when this cavalry Captain come along, 
and tuk the boss away from me and give me this 
cow instid. I hadn’t no idee where he got her, and 
he didn’t give me time to ask, for he started on the 
jump after some guerrillas.” 

“I shouldn’t wonder if his story is true, General,” 
said a member of the staff. “You see, your cow 
has been gone really two days. Day before yester- 
day we sent Blue Jim out into the country with 
her. She needed it awfully. We laid the law down 


A COW IN CAMP. 


57 


to Blue Jim about being very careful with her and 
keep her near the road. It seems that he found a 
good piece of meadow, and turned her loose in it, 
but then, nigger like, he forgot all that we had told 
him about staying right alongside of her, and wan- 
dered off to gather persimmons, and afterward fell 
asleep in a fence-corner. When he woke up the cow 
was gone, and he was scared nearly to death. He 
hunted around for her all day, and came in last 
night nearly starved to death, and whimpering and 
blubbering. We told him that you would order him 
shot as soon as you found out. He has been to see 
the Chaplain twice, to prepare for death.” 

''So?” said the General, smiling. "Well, Mr. 

Mr. I did know your name once” 

"Klegg, Josiah Klegg,” answered the Deacon 
promptly. 

"Yes; how stupid of me to forget it. Well, Mr. 
Klegg, Fm very much obliged to you for finding my 
cow and bringing her home. You've got a very 
fine son — splendid soldier. How is he getting 
along?” 

"Tollably well. General, thank you. Look here, 
General, please let me take those boys home. If 
you will, Fll send 'em back to you in a few weeks 
good as new. All they need is mother's cookin' 
and mother's nursin' to bring 'em right out. And 
I want to go home, too. The army is demoralizin' 
me. I guess I'm gittin' old, and 'm not as strong 
to resist sin and the suggestions of sin as I once 
was. I'm gittin' scared of myself down here.” 

"It's pretty hard work getting back now,” said 


58 


SI KLEGG. 


the General. ‘'Do you think you can do it, if I give 
you leave?’’ 

“0, yes. Jest give the order, and I’ll get the boys 
and myself back home, sure’s you’re livin’.” 

“Very well,” said the General; “you shall have the 
chance.” He turned to one of his staff and said: 

“Look into this matter. If the Surgeon thinks 
they can be moved, have furloughs and transporta- 
tion made out for them and the father. Good-by, 
Mr. Klegg. Take good care of those boys, and send 
them back to me as soon as they are well.” 


CHAPTER IV. 


THE DEACON'S PLAN — DEALING WITH AN OBSTRUC- 
TION TO THE HOMEWARD JOURNEY. 

T he Surgeon, who had conceived quite a good 
opinion of the Deacon's ability, readily certi- 
fied that the boys could be safely taken home, 
since they would have the benefit of his care and 
attention, and the necessary papers came down from 
Headquarters that day. The Deacon had the good 
luck to find his old friend, the Herd Boss, who took 
a deep interest in the matter. He offered to have 
as good a team as he had at the crib the next morn- 
ing, with the wag*on-bed filled with cedar-boughs, to 
make as easy a couch as possible for the rough ride 
over the mountains. 

With his heart full of hope and joy, the Deacon 
bustled around to make every possible preparation 
for the journey. 

“It's a long way back home, I know," he said to 
himself," and the road's rough and difficult as that 
to the New Jerusalem; but Faith and Hope, and 
the blessin' o' God'll accomplish wonders. If I kin 
only hold the souls in them boys' bodies till I kin 
git 'em back to Bean Blossom Crick, I'll trust Mother 
Klegg's nursin' to do the rest. If there ever was a 
woman who could stand off the Destroyin' Angel 
by good nursin' that woman's Mother Klegg, bless 
her soul." 

The next morning he was up betimes, and cooked 


60 


SI KLEGG. 


the boys as good a breah;fast as he could out of the 
remainder of his store and what he could get from 
the hospital, and then gave what was left to who- 
ever came. The comfortable crib, which had cost 
the Deacon so much labor, had been pre-empted by 
the Surgeon for some of his weakest patients. 

The news had reached the 200th Ind. that the 
boys were going home, and they came over in a 
body to say ''Good-by.'’ 

The sight of them pained the Deacon's good heart. 
Instead of the hundreds of well-fed, well-clothed, 
comfortable-looking young men he had seen at Mur- 
freesboro a few months before, he now saw a 
shrunken band of gaunt, unkempt men, their cloth- 
ing ragged and patched, many of them almost shoe- 
less, many of them with pieces of blankets bound 
around their feet instead of shoes, many of them 
with bandages about their still unhealed wounds, 
but still keeping their places bravely with their com- 
rades, and stubbornly refusing to count themselves 
among the sick and disabled, though it required all 
their will-power to do their share of the duty. But 
all of them were brimming over with unconquerable 
cheerfulness and pluck. They made light of their 
wounds and disabilities, jested at one another's rag- 
ged clothes, laughed at their hunger, teased one an- 
other about stealing corn from mules, jeered at the 
rebel shells from Lookout Mountain, yelled derisively 
at the rebel pickets across the creek, and promised 
them to soon come out and run Bragg's army off 
the face of the earth. 

All were eager to do something toward the com- 
fort of their departing comrades. They scanned 


THE deacon’s plan. 


61 


the arrangement of the boughs in the wagon with 
critical eyes, and picked them over and rearranged 
them, so as to avoid every chance of uncomfortable 
knots and lumps. They contributed blankets from 
their own scanty supply, to make sure that there 
would be plenty, and so many were eager to help 
carry Si out and put him in the wagon, that the 
Orderly-Sergeant of Co. Q had to take charge of 
the matter and make a detail. The teamster was 
given strong admonitions as to careful driving, and 
fearful warning as to what would happen to him in 
case of an accident. 

“Hain’t anything to send back home with you, 
boys, this time, but our love,” said one of them. 
'That’s the only thing that’s safe now-a-days from 
bein’ stole, because no one kin eat or wear it. Tell 
the folks to pay no attention to what the paper says. 
No danger o’ bein’ run out o’ Chattanoogy. Tell ’em 
that we’re all fat, ragged and sassy, and only waitin’ 
the word from Gen. Rosecrans to fall on old Bragg 
like a thousand o’ brick and mash the lights outen 
him.” 

"Yes,” joined another, "tell ’em we’ve got plenty 
to eat, sich as it is, and good enough, what there is 
of it. Don’t worry about us. We’re only blowin’ 
up our muscle to git a good lick at old Bragg.” 

"Your muscle,” said Shorty, satirically. "You’ve 
got about as much muscle now as a musketo. But 
you’re good stuff all the same, and you’re goin’ to 
everlastingly lick the rebels when the time comes. 
I only wisht I was here to help you do it. I don’t 
think I’ll go any further than Nashville. I’ll be 
well enough to come back by that time. I’ll see Si 


62 


SI KLEGG. 


and his father off safely, and then gether up a crowd 
of other convalescents, and come back and clean the 
rebels off your cracker line.’' 

'‘Good-by, boys,” piped out Si. “Fll be back soon. 
Don’t bring on the big battle till I do. I want to 
help. Just skirmish around and push the rebels back 
into the woods while I’m gone, and hive ’em up for 
a good lickin’ by the time I git back.” 

As the wagon moved off the 200th Ind. gave three 
cheers, and the regimental soloist struck up the 
“Battle Cry of Freedom,” in which they all joined 
with so much energy as to attract the attention of 
the rebel artillerist on Lookout Mountain, who fa- 
vored them with a shell intended for their express 
benefit. It was no better directed than any of its 
many predecessors had been, and was greeted with 
yells of derision, in which all the camp joined. 

Having done all possible for the boys’ comfort, the 
Deacon had lighted his pipe and taken his seat on a 
board laid over the front, where he could oversee 
the road and the teamster, and take a parting look at 
the animated scenery. The wagon pulled into the 
line of those moving out toward Bridgeport, and 
jogged along slowly for some hours until it was 
nearing the top of one of the hills that jutted out 
close to the Tennessee River, at the base of Lookout 
Mountain. The Deacon saw, with a little nervous- 
ness, that they were approaching the open space in 
which he had had his experience with the horse and 
buckboard, and he anxiously scanned the Craven 
House slope for signs of a rebel cannon. He saw 
that his apprehensions were shared by the drivers of 
the three or four teams just ahead. They were 


THE deacon's plan. 


63 



THE DEACON RECONNOITERED THE SITUATION. 


64 


SI KLEGG. 


whipping up, and yelling at their teams to get past 
the danger point as quick as possible. 

They had need of anxiety. A scattering volley of 
shots came from the bushes and the rocks on the 
opposite side of the Tennessee River, and one of the 
leaders in the team just ahead of him dropped dead 
in his tracks. The teams in front were whipped up 
still harder, and succeeded in getting away. The 
shots were answered from a line of our own men on 
this side of the river, who fired at the smoke they 
saw rising. 

The Deacon’s own teamster sprang from his sad- 
dle, and prudently got in the shelter of the -^agon 
until the affair would be over. The teamster next 
ahead ran forward, and began cutting the fallen 
mule loose, but while he was doing so another shot 
laid the other mule low. The teamster fell flat on 
the ground, and lay there for a minute. Then he 
cautiously arose, and began cutting that mule loose, 
when a shot struck the near-swing mule in the head, 
and he dropped. The Deacon kept that solid old 
head of his throughout the commotion, and surveyed 
the scene with cool observance. 

^‘There’s one feller somewhere over there doin’ all 
that devilment,” he said to Shorty, who was pushing 
his head eagerly out of the front of the wagon to 
find out what was going on. “He’s a sharpshooter 
from way back. You kin see he’s droppin’ them 
mules jest about as fast as he kin load his gun. 
Them other fellers over there are jest putterin’ 
away, makin’ a noise. You kin see their shots strik- 
in’ down the hill there, and everywhere, where 
they ain’t doin’ nothin’. But that feller’s out for 


THE deacon's plan. 


65 


business. Tve bin tryin’ to locate him. He's some- 
where closter than any o' the others. Their bullets 
don't quite reach, while his goes home every time. 
See there." 

The off-swmg mule dropped this time. 

‘'Land's sakes," ejaculated the Deacon, “he's cost- 
in' Uncle Sam $150 every time his gun cracks. It's 
jest sinful to be destroyin' property that way. 
Shorty, kin you reach me that gun o' Si's out o' 
the wagon? I believe I'll slip down toward the bank 
and see if I can't find that feller. I've bin watchin' 
the willers along the aidge o' the water, and I be- 
lieve he's in there." 

“Don't go. Pap," pleaded Si. “Some of the boys 
on the skirmish-line 'll find him soon, and settle him. 
Don't expose yourself. Stay behind the wagon." 

“Yes, stay back under cover. Deacon," joined in 
Shorty. “Let the boys down there 'tend to him. 
They're gittin' $16 a month for it, and don’t want 
nobody else to interfere in their job." 

Just then the near wheel mule dropped. 

“Gi' me that gun at onct," said the Deacon sternly. 

Shorty handed him the Springfield and its car- 
tridge-box without another word. The Deacon 
looked over the rifle, “hefted" it, and tried it at his 
shoulder to get its poise, critically examined its 
sights by aiming at various objects, and then wiped 
out its barrel, as he would that of his trusty hunt- 
ing-rifle at home. All of his old deer-hunting in- 
stincts revived. He took out several cartridges, 
turned them over in his hand, and carefully selected 
one, tore open the paper, poured the powder in, re- 
moved the paper from the ball, and carefully 


66 


SI KLEGG. 


rammed it home, struck the butt of the gun on the 
ground to make sure of its priming, and put on the 
cap. 

“Hold her about a foot under. Pap, at 400 yards,” 
said Si, who had rolled over to the side of the wagon, 
and was watching him from under the cover, which 
was raised up a little. “Put your sights up to the 
400 mark, and then draw the top o' the bead down 
fine into that notch, and she’ll put it right where 
you hold her.” 

By this time the sharpshooter had finished up the 
mules on the team ahead, and begun on that of the 
Deacon. The firing was furious all along both sides 
of the river, and the teamsters in the rear were 
showing signs of stampeding. The Wagonmaster 
was storming up and down to hold them in place, 
and the officers in command of the line along the 
river bank were raging at their men for not sup- 
pressing the fire from over the stream. 

“Old man, you’d better not go down there,” said 
a Captain as the Deacon came walking down, look- 
ing very grim and determined. “It’s getting hotter 
down there every minute. The rebels seem deter- 
mined to stick to their work, and I’ve had three 
men wounded already.” 

“Look out for your own men, my son,” answered 
the Deacon, in whom the fire of battle was burning. 
“I’ll look out for myself. If I’m hit the Gover’ment 
won’t lose nothin’. I’m only a citizen.” 

He had kept his eye on the clump of willows, and 
was sure that his man was in there, though the 
smoke hung around so confusingly that he could not 
always make out -yvhere a fresh shot came from. He 


THE DEACON'S PLAN. 


67 


got down to where an occasional bullet struck in his 
neighborhood, but that did not disturb him. He be- 
gan to feel that thrill of man-hunting which when 
it seizes a man is an overpowering passion. 

"‘Fm goin’ to stop him killin' mules," he said to 
himself. ‘‘I rayly hope I won’t kill him, but that's 
a secondary matter. Providence’ll settle that. It’s 
my duty to stop him. That’s clear. If his time’s 
come Providence’ll put the bullet where it’ll kill him. 
If it ain’t, it won’t. That’s all. Providence indi- 
dates my duty to me. The responsibility for the rest 
is with Providence, who doeth all things well." 

He reached the firing-line, strung along the ragged 
bluffs, and hiding behind trees, stumps and stones. 

‘Xay down, there, old man; grab a root; keep 
under cover, or you’ll git hit," some of them called 
out to him, noticing him as they turned to load. 
“The air is so full o’ bullets you kin ketch your hat 
full if you only hold it up." 

“All right, boys. I’ll lay low. I’ve come down here 
to help you," answered the Deacon. 

“Bully for you; we need it." 

The Deacon took his position behind a big black 
walnut, while he reconnoitered the situation, and 
got his bearings on the clump of willows. He felt 
surer than ever of his man, for he actually saw a 
puff of smoke come from it, and saw that right be- 
hind the puff stood a willow that had grown to the 
proportions of a small tree, and had its bark rubbed 
off by the chafing of driftwood against it. 

“He’s right behind that peeled wilier," the Deacon 
said, “and takes a rest agin it. Three inches to 
the left o' that, and three foot from the ground’ll 


68 


SI KLEGG. 


take him square in the breast, as he is probably 
kneeling down/’ 

Before him he noticed a deep gully cut in the 
bank, by which he could get down to the water’s 
edge where there was a clump of paw-paws project- 
ing out toward the willows. If he went down there 
it would make his shot surer, but there was much 
danger that he would be noticed and fired at on his 
way. 

“Fm goin’ down there,” he said, after a moment’s 
deliberation. “Providence has sent me on this job, 
and intends I shall do it right, which I kin by goin’ 
down there. Providence’ll take care o’ me while I’m 
goin’. Same time, Providence expects me to show 
gumption, by not exposin’ myself any moie’n pos- 
sible.” 

Therefore he cut a young, thick-branched cedar 
and held it in front of him as he crouched and 
made his way to the gully and down it. 

He had nearly reached the cover of the paw-paws, 
and was beginning to congratulate himself that his 
cedar screen and the turmoil on the bank above had 
enabled him to escape attention, when a bullet struck 
a stone to his left, and threw it against him with 
such force as to almost knock all the breath out 
of his body. He fell to the ground, but retained cool- 
ness enough to understand that this was to his ad- 
vantage, and he crawled slowly forward until he was 
safely behind the bushes. 

“That come from that hound in the willers,” said 
he to himself. “He’s a sharp one. He got on to 
me somehow, and now it’s me and him fur it. Any- 
how, he didn’t kill a mule worth $150 with that bul- 


THE DEACON'S PLAN. 


69 


let. But it'll take as much as six bits’ worth o’ 
porous plaster to take the swellin' out o' my side 
where that rock welted me." 

He hitched forward cautiously a little farther, to 
where he could peer through the bushes, being ex- 
ceedingly wary not to repeat his opponent’s mis- 
take, and set their tops in motion. A rock protrud- 
ing through the ground in front of him made an 
opening through which he could see, and also afford- 
ed a rest for his musket. He looked sharply, and at 
length was rewarded by seeing the gun-barrel come 
out by the side of the barked willow, rested on a 
bare limb, and apparently aimed at the hill beyond. 
He took a long breath to steady his nerves, stretched 
out his legs to make himself more at ease, pushed 
his musket forward until he got exactly the right 
poise, aimed about nine inches below the level of 
his opponent's gun-barrel, and a little to the, left, 
drew his bead down to a hair’s nicety in the hind 
sight, and pulled the trigger just as the rebel sharp- 
shooter did the same. Both muskets seemed to flash 
at the same moment. The rebel sprang up through 
the willows and fell forward on his face. 

The Deacon picked up his gun and walked back 
up the bank. The Union skirmishers had seen the 
man fall and raised a yell, which they changed to 
cheers as they saw the Deacon coming up the bank. 

The Captain in command came up and said: 

'*Sir, I congratulate you. That was splendidly 
done. I was just getting on to that fellow when you 
went down. I watched you through my glass, and 
saw you fetch him. You are entitled to all our 
thanks." 


70 


SI KLEGG. 


'‘No thanks to me, sir. I only done the dooty 
Providence marked out for me. I hope the man 
ain't killed. If he is, it’s because Providence had 
fixed the number of his days. I only wanted to 
stop his killin’ mules, and destroyin’ Gover’ment 
property, and let us go on our journey in peace.” 

“Well, I wish you’d stay here and help us with 
some more of those fellows over there. I’m sure 
their time has come, but my men don’t seem to be 
quite as good in carrying out the decrees of Provi- 
dence as you are.” 

“Thankee, sir,” said the Deacon. “But I must go 
back and ’tend to my boys. We’ve got a long ways 
to go yet to-day.” 

He went back to the road and reported to the 
Wagonmaster : 

“Now you kin clear away them dead mules and 
go ahead. You won’t scarcely be bothered any more 
for awhile at least.” 


CHAPTER V. 


TROUBLE ENCOUNTERED — THE BOYS MEET AN OLD 
FRIEND AND ARE TAKEN HOME IN A HURRY. 

I T WAS not until late the next afternoon that 
the wagon-train finally reached Bridgeport, and 
the weak, wornout mules had at last a respite 
from straining through the mud, under the incessant 
nagging of the teamsters' whips and their volleyed 
blasphemy. 

The Deacon's merciful heart had been moved by 
the sufferings of the poor beasts. He had done all 
that he could on the journey to lighten the labor of 
those attached to his own wagon. He had restrained 
as much as possible the St. Vitus Dance of the team- 
ster's keen whip, uselessly remonstrated with him 
against his profanity, carried a rail to help pry the 
wheels out of the mudholes, and got behind and 
pushed going up the steep hills. At the journey's 
end when the exhausted brutes stood motionless, 
with their ears drooping and their eyes looking 
unutterable disgust at everything connected with the 
army and war, the Deacon helped the teamster take 
their harness off, and carry them as much corn and 
hay as the Forage-Master could be pursuaded to dole 
out to them. 

The Deacon's next solicitude was to get the boys 
aboard a train that would start out soon. This was 
a sore perplexity. All was rush and bustle about 
the railroad yard. Trains were coming, being 


72 


SI KLEGG. 


switched hither and yon, unloaded, and reloaded, and 
going, in a way that was simply bewildering to the 
plain farmer. Men in uniform and men in plain 
clothes were giving orders, and these were obeyed, 
and everybody seemed too busy to answer questions 
or give information. 

'‘Naw; git out. Don’t bother me with no ques- 
tions, I tell you,” impatiently said a man in citizen’s 
clothes, who with arms outspread was signalling 
the switching engines. “ ’Tain’t my business to give 
information to people. Got all I kin do to furnish 
brains for them bull-headed engineers. Go to that 
Quartermaster you see over there in uniform. The 
Government pays him for knowin’ things. It don’t 
me.” 

‘T don’t know anything about the different cars, 
my friend,” said the Quarmaster haughtily. “That’s 
the business of the railroad people. I simply order 
them to make up the trains for me, and they do 
the rest. There’s a Yard-Master over there. Go ask 
him.” 

“Blazes and brimstone,” exploded the Yard-Mas- 
ter; “how in the devil’s name do you suppose I can 
tell anything about the trains going out? I’m just 
pestered to death by such fool questions, while the 
life’s being worried out of me by these snoozers with 
sardine-labels on their shoulders, who strut around 
and give orders, and don’t know enough about rail- 
roading to tell a baggage-check from a danger-signal. 
If they’d only let me alone I’d have all these trains 
running in and out like shuttles in a loom. But as 
soon’s I get one arranged down comes a shoulder- 
strap and orders something different. Go off and 


TROUBLE ENCOUNTERED. 


73 


ask somebody that wears brass buttons and a bass- 
wood head. Don’t bother me. Get out of the way 
of that engine there.” 

In despair, the Deacon turned to a man who wore 
a Major’s shoulder-straps. 

“No,” he answered ; “I’m soriy to say that I can- 
not give you any information. I’m only in command 
of the guards here. I haven’t anything to do with 
the trains. The Quartermasters run them, and they 
run them as they run everything they have any- 
thing to do with — like the old man and woman run 
their fulling mill on the Kankakee — that is, like 


“Dumb this mixin’ o’ military and civilian,” said 
the irritated Deacon. “It’s worse’n mixin’ religion 
and politics, and preachin’ and tavern-keepin’. 
Down there in camp everything was straight and 
systematic. Every feller what don’t have nothin’ 
in his shoulder-straps bosses all the fellers what 
hain’t no shoulder-straps at all. The feller what has 
one bar in his shoulder-straps bosses all the fellers 
what hain’t nothin in theirs, and the feller what has 
two bars bosses the fellers with but one; the feller 
with leaves gives orders to the fellers with bars; 
the feller with an eagle lays clear over him, and 
the man with a star jest makes everybody jump 
when he talks. Out at the depot on Bean Blossom 
Crick Sol Pringle has the say about everything. 
He knows when the trains come and when they 
go, and what goes into ’em. This seems to be a be- 
twixt and between place, neither pork nor bacon. I 
don’t like it at all. I always want things straight — 
either one thing or t’other — reg’ler close communion, 


74 


SI KLEGG. 


total-immersion Babtist, or free-for-all, shoutin’ 
Methodist.” 

‘‘I think I can help you, ’Squire,” said a big, good- 
natured-looking civilian railroad man, who had be- 
come interested in the Deacon’s troubles. “I’ve bin 
around with the Assistant Yard-Boss pickin’ out a 
lot o’ empties to hustle back to Nashville for grub. 
That’s one o’ them over there, on the furthest 
switch — X634. See? It’s got a chalk mark on it. 
I’ll help you carry your boys into it, and fix ’em 
comfortable, and you’ll go back with it all right.” 

The Deacon turned gladly to him. The man sum- 
moned some of his friends, who speedily transferred 
Si and Shorty, with their belongings, cedar boughs 
and all, to the car, and made them as comfortable 
as possible, and added some little offerings of their 
own to contribute to the ease of the journey. They 
bestired themselves to find something to eat that the 
boys would relish, and brought out from somewhere 
a can of peaches and one of tomatoes, which proved 
very acceptable. The Deacon was overwhelmed with 
gratitude. 

“I want every one of you to come up to my house, 
whenever you git a chance,” he said, “and make a 
long visit. You shall have the’ very best that there 
is on my farm, and if you don’t live well it won’t be 
Maria Klegg’s fault. She’ll jest lay herself out to 
be good to men who’s bin good to her son, and when 
she lays herself out to git up a dinner the Burnett 
House in Cincinnati takes a back seat.” 

Feeling entirely at ease, he climbed into the car, 
with a copy of the Cincinnati Gazette, which he had 
bought of a newsboy, lighted his pipe, put on his 


TROUBLE ENCOUNTERED. 


75 


spectacles, and settled down to a labored, but 
thorough perusal of the paper, beginning at the 
head-lines on the upper left-hand corner, and taking 
in every word, advertisements and all, as systemati- 
cally as he would weed a garden-bed or milk a cow. 
The Deacon never did anything slip-shod, especially 
when he had to pay 10 cents for a copy of the Cin- 
cinnati Gazette, He was going to get his full 
money's worth, and if it was not in the news and 
editorials, he would take it out of the advertisements 
and patent medicine testimonials. He was just 
going through a convincing testimonial to the mani- 
fold virtues of Spalding's Prepared Glue, when there 
was a bump, the sound of coupling, and his car began 
to move off. 

“Glory, we're goin' home!" shouted the Deacon, 
waving his paper exultingly to the railroad men who 
had been so helpful. But he exulted prematurely. 
The engine rattled ahead sharply for a few hundred 
yards, and then began backing to opposite the spot 
where it had started from. 

“That's all right," said his railroads friends en- 
couragingly. “She's just run back on the other 
switch to take up a couple more cars. She'll go 
ahead all right presently." 

“I hope it is all right," said the Deacon, a little 
abashed; “but I never had any use for a boss that 
went back more'n he did forrard." 

But this was only the first of many similar ex- 
periences, which occupied the rest of the day. 

“Good gracious, do they want to wear the track 
and wheels and injines clean out?" grumbled the 
Deacon. “No wonder they're all out o' order. If I 


76 


SI KLEGG. 


jammed my wagon back and forrard this way it 
wouldn’t last a month. No wonder war-taxes are 
high, with everybody doin’ all they kin to waste and 
destroy property. I’ve a great mind to write to Gen. 
Rosecrans or President Lincoln callin’ attention to 
the way their hired men monkey around, and waste 
time, and don’t accomplish nothin’.” 

Some time after dark, and after the Deacon’s 
patience had become well-nigh exhausted, the rail- 
road men came around with a lantern, and told him 
that at last it was settled, and the train would move 
out very soon. There had been conflicting orders 
during the day, but now the Chief Quartermaster 
at Nashville had ordered the train forward. Sure 
enough, the train pulled out presently, and went rat- 
tling up toward Shelbyville. Again the Deacon’s 
heart bounded high, and after watching the phan- 
tom-like roadside for awhile, he grew very sleepy, 
and crawled in alongside of Si. He waked up at 
daylight, and went at once to the car-door hopefully 
expecting to recognize the outskirts of Nashville, or 
at least Murfreesboro. To his dismay, he saw the 
same sutler’s shanty, mule-corral, pile of baled-hay, 
and the embalmer’s sign on a tree which had been 
opposite them while standing on the track at Bridge- 
port. 

Shorty swore volubly, and for once the Deacon 
did not check him, but was sinfully conscious in 
his heart of approving the profanity. 

*'Swearin’s awful wicked and low,” he said to 
himself. “A sensible man can get along without it 
ordinarily, by the grace o’ God and hard tryin’, 
though I’ve knowed a yoke o’ dumbed steers in a 


TROUBLE ENCOUNTERED. 77 



IN DESPAIR, THE DEACON TURNED TO A MAJOR. 


78 


SI KLEGG. 


stumpy field to purty nigh overcome me. But the 
army’s no common experience, and I s’pose a man’s 
justified in bustin’ out in a time like this. Old Job 
was lucky that he didn’t have to ride on an army 
railroad. 

His railroad friend again came up with some 
hot coffee and broiled meat, and explained that 
after the train had reached a station some miles 
out it got orders to run back and clear the track 
for some trains of troops from the Army of the 
Potomac which were being rushed through. The 
Deacon’s heart almost s^nk in despair, but he took 
the coffee and meat, and helped the boys to it. As 
they were all eating they heard a voice outside 
which struck on the chords of their memories: 

“Where is that Yard-Boss? Where is that Yard- 
Boss? Find him and send him to me, immediately.” 

“That sounds like Levi Rosenbaum,” said Shorty. 

Si nodded affirmatively. 

The Deacon looked out, and recognized Levi 
dressed in the hight of fashion. On his jetty curls 
sat a glossy silk hat, his clothes looked as if just 
taken from the tailor’s shop, and they fitted him to 
perfection. A large diamond flashed from his scarf- 
pin, and another gleamed in a ring on his right 
hand as he waved it in giving orders to the men 
around. Every eye was fixed on him, and when he 
spoke there was hastening to obey. The Yard-Boss 
was coming at a run. 

“Why are those cotton-cars still standing there 
this morning, after the orders I gave you yester- 
day?” asked Levi, in tones of severest reprehension, 
as that official came up. 


TROUBLE ENCOUNTERED. 


79 


‘‘Why, Mr. Rosenbaum,'' said that official apolo- 
getically — he was the same man who had so severely 
snubbed the Deacon the day before — “you see I had 
the train made up and all ready to start, when there 
came orders" 

“Whose orders?" demanded Levi. “Who dares 
give orders that over-ride mine? You go at once 
and have an engine — the best one you have — hitched 
on. Couple on my car, and be ready to start in 15 
minutes. Fifteen minutes I give you," continued he, 
looking at his watch. “Tell the Train Dispatcher to 
clear everything into switches until we get to Mur- 
freesboro, and have the operator at Murfreesboro 
lay by everything till we get to Nashville." 

The Yard-Boss rushed off to execute the order. 

“Great Jehosephat, what's come over Levi?" mut- 
tered Shorty. “Has he become the High-muk-a-muk 
of the whole army? Have they put him in Gen. 
Rosecrans's place?" 

“Will I dare to speak to such a high-flyer?" said 
the Deacon, doubtfully. 

Levi's eyes, flashed from one point to another, 
rested on the Deacon for a moment, and the latter 
wreathed his face with a grin of recognition. Then 
Levi's stern countenance relaxed with a still broader 
grin. 

“Hello, 'Squire," he shouted joyously. “Is that 
you? Where are the boys?" And he rushed for- 
ward with outstretched hand. 

“I've got 'em in here, badly hurt," answered the 
Deacon, jumping to the ground and grasping the 
outstretched hand in his own horny palm. “I'm very 
glad to see you, Mr. Rosenbaum." 


80 


SI KLEGG. 


'‘Glad ain’t no name for it,” said Levi. “Did you 
say you’d got the boys in there? Here, you men, 
bring me two or three of those cracker-boxes.” 

By the aid of the cracker-boxes Levi climbed into 
the car, and shook the boys’ hands, and cried and 
talked mingled gladness and sympathy in his broken 
English. 

“What place have you got, and what are you 
doin’ down here, Mr. Rosenbaum,” the Deacon asked 
in the first lull. 

“0, I’m Special Agent of the Treasury in charge 
of the cotton business. You see, these rascals have 
been stealing the Treasury blind, in cotton, and they 
had to have an honest man down here, who was 
up to all their tricks, and wouldn’t stand no non- 
sense. They sent me, and gave me orders which 
make me boss of the whole outfit. None of them 
outrank me about these trains.” 

“So I see,” said the Deacon. “Wisht I’d had a 
handful of your authority yesterday.” 

“Here, we’re wasting time,” said Levi suddenly. 
“You’re tryin’ to get these boys back home. I’ll see 
that they get as far as the Ohio River as fast as the 
train’ll go. Here, six or eight of you men pick 
up these boys and carry them over to my car there. 
Handle them as if they were eggs, for they’re my 
friends.” 

There was no lack of willing hands to execute 
this order. That was long before the days of pri- 
vate cars, even for railway magnates, but Rosen- 
baum had impressed a caboose for himself, which 
he had had fitted up with as many of the comforts 
of a home as were available at that era of car-build- 


TROUBLE ENCOUNTERED. 


81 


ing. He had a good bed with a spring mattress 
for himself and another for his friends, table, chairs, 
washroom and a fairly-equipped kitchen, stored with 
provisions, for he was as fond of good living as of 
sumptuous raiment. All this and more he was only 
too glad to place at the disposal of the Deacon and 
the boys. The Deacon himself was not more so- 
licitous about their comfort. 

The train started as Levi had ordered, and sped 
along on a clear track to Nashville. Cotton was 
needed at the North almost as much as rations were 
needed at the front, and a train loaded with Treas- 
ury cotton had superior rights to the track which 
must not be disregarded. At Nashville a friend of 
Levi’s, a Surgeon of generally recognized skill, and 
whom Levi had telegraphed for, came aboard with 
a couple of skilled nurses, who bathed the boys, 
dressed their wounds, and replaced their soiled, torn 
clothes with new, clean ones, including fine, soft 
underwear from Levi’s own wardrobe. 

‘‘Say, Doc.,” said Shorty, after this was finished 
and he had devoured a supper cooked under Levi’s 
special care, “I feel so much better that I don’t be- 
lieve there’s any need o’ my goin on any further.- 
I’ll jest lay by here, and go into Convalescent Camp 
for a few days, and then go back to the front with 
a squad, and help clean up our cracker line. I’d 
like awfully well to have a hand in runnin’ them 
rebels offen Lookout Mountain. They’ve bin too in- 
fernally impudent and sassy for any earthly use.” 

“Indeed you won’t,” said the Surgeon decisively. 
“You’ll go straight home, and stay there until you 
are well. You won’t be fit for duty for at least 


82 


SI KLEGG. 


a month yet, if then. If you went out into camp 
now you would have a relapse, and be dead inside 
of a week. The country between here and Chat- 
tanooga is dotted with the graves of men who have 
been sent back to the front too soon. 

The journey to Louisville was delightful. At 
Louisville Levi tried hard to get his caboose taken 
across the river and attached to a train on the 
other side, so that the boys could go clear home 
in it. But a Special Treasury Agent had but little 
of the importance north of the Ohio River that he 
had south of it. Still, Levi managed to get the 
crew of an accommodation train interested in the 
boys, whom he had driven across the river on a light 
wagon, lying on his spring mattress. They were 
placed in a comfortable caboose, and soon were 
speeding on the last stretch of the journey. 

The day was bright and sunny, and the boys were 
propped up, so that they could look out of the 
windows and enjoy the scenery. That they were 
nearing home made Si nervous and fidgety. It 
seemed to him that the train only crawled, and 
stopped interminably at every station and crossing.' 
The Deacon became alarmed lest this should unfa- 
vorably affect him, and resorted to various devices 
to divert his mind. He bought a Cincinnati Gazette, 
and began reading it aloud. Si was deeply inter- 
ested in all the war news, particularly that relating 
to the situation at Chattanooga, but he would not 
listen to the merits of Spalding's Prepared Glue. 

The day wore away towards evening. 

"‘Ain't we most there, Pap ?" Si asked querulously. 

About 25 mile away, I think," answered his 


TROUBLE ENCOUNTERED. 


83 


father. “I disremember just how fur that last stop 
is from the Crick, but I think it^s betwixt 25 and 
30 mile.^^ 

Just then the whistle blew for a stop. 

“What’n the world are they stoppin’ here for?’^ 
groaned Si. “Some woman’s got a dozen aigs or a 
pound o’ butter that she wants to send to town. 
I s’pose we’ll stop here until she finishes churnin’, or 
gits another aig to make up a dozen. I never did 
see sich putterin’ along.” 

The Deacon was deeply absorbed in an editorial 
on “President Lincoln’s duty in this Crisis,” and 
paid no attention. Shorty craned his long neck 
out of the window. 

“Some gal’s stopped the train to git on,” he re- 
ported to Si. “She’s apparently been payin’ a visit 
to a house up there a little ways, and they’ve brung 
her down in a buggy with her trunk. She’s dressed 
up fit to kill, and she’s purtier than a peach-blos- 
som. Jehosephat, Si, I believe she’s the very same 
gal that you was castin’ sheep’s eyes at when you 
was home. Yes, it is.” 

“Annabel?” gasped Si. 

“What’s that?” said the' Deacon, rousing to inter- 
est, but carefully putting his thumb down to mark 
the place where he left off. 

“Shorty thinks Annabel is out there gittin’ on 
the train.” 

“Eh,” said the Deacon, shoving up his spectacles 
and taking a good look. “It certainly is. She’s 
been down here to see the Robinses, who live out 
here somewhere. I’ll jest go out and bring her in 
here.” 


CHAPTER VL 


THE BOYS IN THE OLD HOME ON BEAN BLOSSOM 
CREEK. 

T he Deacon had been afraid to telegraph di- 
rectly to his wife that he was bringing the 
boys home. He knew the deadly alarm that 
would seize mother and daughters at the very sight 
of the yellow telegraph envelope directed to them. 
They would interpret it to mean that Si was dead, 
and probably in their grief fail to open the envelope 
and read the message. So at Jeffersonville he sent 
a message to Sol Pringle, the agent and operator 
at the station. The Deacon remembered the strain 
the former message had been on the young operator’s 
intelligence, besides he himself was not used to 
writing messages, and so, regardless of expense, he 
conveyed his thoughts to Sol in this wise: 

Deer Sol: put yore thinkin’ cap on, and under- 
stand just what Ime sayin’. I want you to send 
word out to the house at once that Ime cornin’ home 
this evenin’ on the accommodation train, and bring- 
ing the boys. Be keerful and doant make a fool 
of yourself and skeer the wimmin fokes. 

Respectfully yores, JosiAH Klegg. 

Sol had plenty of time to study that dispatch 
out, and he not only sent word as desired, but he 
communicated the news to all who came to the sta- 
tion. The result was there was quite a crowd of 
friends there to greet the home-comers. 

The reception of the message had thrown the 


THE BOYS IN THE OLD HOME. 


85 


household into a flurry of joyful expectancy. It was 
far better news than the Deacon's last letter had 
led them to anticipate. After a few moments of 
tearful ejaculation and mutual kissing over it, 
mother and daughters began to get everything in 
readiness to give the returning ones the warmest, 
most cheerful welcome. Abraham Lincoln was sum- 
moned in from his rail-splitting, which he had been 
pursuing quite leisurely during the Deacon’s ab- 
sence, and stirred to spasmodic energy under 
Maria’s driving to cut an additional supply of dry 
wood, and carry it into every room in the house, 
where little Sammy Woggles, the orphan whom the 
Deacon and Mrs. Klegg were bringing up, built 
cheer-shedding fires. Mrs. Klegg had her choicest 
young chickens killed, and after she and Amanda 
had robbed every other room of whatever they 
thought would add to the comfort of Si’s, she set 
herself to work preparing a supper which would out- 
do all her previous efforts. 

Hours before the train was due Maria had Abra- 
ham Lincoln bring out the spring-wagon and hitch 
the horses to it. Then he had to lay in a bed of 
clean straw, and upon this was placed a soft feather 
bed, blankets and pillows. Maria decided that she 
would drive to the station herself. 

''Never do in the world,” said she, "to trust 
them skittish young horses, what hain’t done a lick 
o’ work since Pap went away, to that stoopid darky. 
They’d surely run away and break his neck, which ’d 
be no great loss, and save lots o’ provisions, but 
they’d smash that new wagon and break their own 
necks, which are worth more’n $200 apiece.” 


86 


SI KLEGG. 


‘‘Maria, how can you talk so?’' said the gentle 
Mrs. Klegg reprovingly. “It’s a sin to speak so 
lightly o’ death o’ a feller-creature.” 

“Well, if he’s a feller-creature o’ mine,” returned 
the sprightly Maria, “the Lord made a slack-twisted 
job of him some dark night out o’ remnants, and 
couldn’t find no gumption to put in him. He gave 
him an alligator’s appetite instid. And ain’t I tryin’ 
to save his life? Besides, I’m nearly dead to see 
Si. I want to be the first to see him.” 

This aroused Amanda, but -Maria stood on her 
rights as the elder sister, had her way, as she 
usually did, and drove away triumphantly fully two 
hours before train-time. 

Upon her arrival at the station she quickly recog- 
nized that she was the central figure in the gather- 
ing crowd, and she would have been more than a 
young woman if she had not made the most of her 
prominence. 

Other girls were there with their fathers and 
mothers who had brothers who had been in the three 
months’ service, or were now in three years regi- 
ments, or who had been discharged on account of 
disability, or who had been in this battle or that, but 
none of them a brother who had distinguished him- 
self in the terrible battle about which everybody 
was now talking, who had helped capture a rebel 
flag, who had been wounded almost to death, who 
had been reported dead, and who was now coming 
home, a still living evidence of all this. No boy 
who had gone from Bean Blossom Creek neighbor- 
hood had made the figure in the public eye that Si 
had, and Maria was not the girl to hide the light 


THE BOYS IN THE OLD HOME. 



“ARABELLA CURLED HER LIP AT SEEING MARIA 
TAKE THE BABY,” 



88 


SI KLEGG. 


of his achievements under a bushel. She was 
genially fraternal with those girls who had brothers 
still in the service, affable to those whose brothers 
had been in, but were now, for any reason, out, 
but only distantly civil to those whose brothers 
had not enlisted. Of these last was Arabella Wid- 
geon, whose father had been one of the earliest 
immigrants to the Wabash, and was somewhat in- 
clined to boast of his Old Virginia family. He 
owned a larger farm than the Deacon's, and Ara- 
bella, who was a large, showy girl, a year or two 
older than Maria, had been her schoolmate, and, 
Maria thought, disposed to '‘put on airs” over her. 
Arabella’s brother Randolph was older than Si, but 
had chosen to continue his studies at Indianapolis 
rather than engage in “a war to free the niggers.” 
But Arabella had developed an interest in the war 
since she had met some engaging young gentlemen 
who had come through the neighborhood on re- 
cruiting duty, and was keeping up a fitful cor- 
respondence with two or three of them. 

“It must be very nice, Maria,” said Arabella, 
with a show of cordiality, but which Maria inter- 
preted as an attempt to patronize, “to have vour 
brother back home with you again.” 

“It certainly will be. Miss Widgeon,” answered 
Maria, with strictly “company manners.” “One 
who has never had a brother exposed to the con- 
stant dangers of army life can hardly understand 
how glad we all feel to have Si snatched from the 
very jaws of death and brung back to us.” 

“That’s a little love-tap that’ll settle several scores 
with Miss Frills,” Maria chuckled to herself. “Par- 


THE BOYS IN THE OLD HOME. 


89 


tickerly the airs she put on over all us girls when 
she was running around to singing-school and 
church with that Second Lieutenant, who ain’t got 
across the Ohio River yet, and I don’t believe he 
intends to. Sol Pringle tells me all his letters to 
her are postmarked Jeffersonville.” 

Arabella took no seeming notice of the shot, but 
came back sweetly : 

‘‘I am awfully glad that your brother was not 
hurt so badly as at first reported. He couldn’t be, 
and be able to come home now. These papers do 
magnify everything so, and make no end of fuss 
over little things as well as big ones. I was very 
much alarmed at first, for fear Si might be really 
badly hurt.” 

This was too much for Maria. Her company man- 
ners slid off like a drop of water from a cabbage 
leaf, and she answered hotly: 

‘T’d have you know. Miss Widgeon, the papers 
don’t magnify the matter. They don’t make a fuss 
over nothing. They don’t begin to tell all the truth. 
None o’ them can. My brother was nearer dead 
than any man who ever lived. Nothing but the 
favor of God and Klegg grit pulled him through. 
It’d killed a whole house full o’ Randy Widgeons 
or that Second Lieutenant. I remember Randy 
Widgeon turning pale and a’most fainting when he 
run a fish-hook in his finger. If it ain’t nothing, 
why don’t Randy Widgeon go ’ down there a little 
while, with the rest o’ the boys, and do his share?” 

‘"My brother disbelieves in the constitutionality of 
this war, and denies that we have any right to 


90 


SI KLEGG. 


take away other people’s slaves,” said Arabella 
loftily. “I s’pose he’s a right to his opinions.” 

“A poor excuse’s better’n none,” retorted Maria. 
“I noticed that he didn’t turn out last Summer to 
keep John Morgan from stealing our people’s horses, 
and robbing their stores and houses. S’pose he 
thought it unconstitutional to let a nastly rebel 
gorilla shoot at him. It’s very convenient to have 
opinions to keep you from doin’ things that you’re 
afraid to do.” 

The dialog was approaching the volcanic stage, 
when a poorly-dressed, sad-faced woman, with a 
babe in her arms, edged through the crowd to Maria, 
and said timidly, for she had never been accounted 
by the Kleggs as in their set: 

“Miss Maria, I don’t s’pose you know me, but 
I do so want to git a chance to speak to your pap 
as soon as he gets here, and before all these people 
gits hold of him. Mebbe he’s found out something 
about poor Jim. I can’t believe that Jim was killed, 
and I keep hopin’ that he got away somehow, and is 
in one o’ them hospitals. Mebbe your pap knows. I 
know you think Jim was bad and rough, but he was 
mighty good to me, and he’s all that I had. I’m nearly 
dead to hear about him, but I can’t write, nor kin 
Jim. I’ve bin tryin’ to make up my mind to come 
over to your house, and ax you to write for me.” 

“Of course, you can, you poor, dear woman,” said 
Maria, her mood changing at once from fierceness to 
loving pity. “You shall be the first one to speak to 
Pap and Si after me. Why didn’t you come over 
to see us long ago. We’d only bin too glad to see 
you, and do all we could for you. Yes, I know you. 


THE BOYS IN THE OLD HOME. 


91 


You’re Polly Blagdon, and live down by the saw- 
mill, where your husband used to work. You look 
tired and weak carrying that big baby. Let me 
hold him awhile and rest you. Sit down there on 
that box. ril make Sol Pringle clear it off for you.” 

Arabella curled her nose, at seeing Maria take 
the unwashed baby in her arms, to the imminent 
danger of her best gown, but Maria did not notice 
this, and was all loving attention to the baby and 
its mother. 

It seemed an age until the whistle of the locomo- 
tive was heard. The engine had to stop to take 
water at the creek, several hundred yards from the 
station, and Maria’s impatience to see Si and be the 
first to speak to him could not brook the delay. 

‘‘Come along, Mrs. Blagdon,” she called, and with 
the baby still in her arms, she sped down the cinder 
track to the pumping station, and then along the 
line of freight cars until she recognized her father’s 
face looking from the caboose, which was still be- 
yond the bridge. She shouted joyously at him. 

“Maria’s out there, waitin’ for us, and she’s got a 
baby in her arms. What do you suppose she thinks 
we want a baby for?” 

“ ’Spect she’s been practicin’ on it, so’s to take care 
o’ us. Si,” said Shorty. “I believe we’ve been more 
trouble to your father than we wuz to our mothers 
when we wuz teethin’.” 

“I’ve bin repaid for all, more’n repaid for all,” 
said the Deacon; “especially since I’m once more 
back home, and out o’ the reach o’ the Sheriffs o’ 
Tennessee. I’ll stay away from Chattanoogy till 
after the Grand Jury meets down there. If it does 


92 


SI KLEGG. 


its dooty there’ll be several bills with Josiah Klegg’s 
name entirely too. conspicuous.” 

“I want to be able to git out to the next cove- 
nant meetin’, Pap,” said Si with a grin, “and hear 
you confess to the brethren and sisters all that 
you’ve bin up to down at Chattanoogy.” 

“Well, you won’t git there,” said the Deacon de- 
cisively. “We don’t allow nobody in there who 
hain’t arrived at the years o’ discreetion, which’ll 
keep you out for a long time yit.” 

The train pulled over across the bridge, and hand- 
ing the baby to its mother, Maria sprang in, to 
recoil in astonishment at the sight of Annabel’s 
blushing face. 

“You mean thing,” said Maria, “to steal a march 
on me this way, when I wanted to be the first to see 
Si. Where in the world did you come from, and 
how did you find out he was cornin’ home on this 
train? Si, you didn’t let her know before you did 
us, did you?” 

She was rent by the first spasm of womanly jeal- 
ousy that any other woman should come between 
her brother and his mother and sisters. 

“Don’t be cross, Maria,” pleaded Annabel. “I 
didn’t know nothin’ of it. You know I’ve been down 
to see the Robinses, and intended to stay till to- 
morrer, but something moved me to come home to- 
day, and I just happened to take this train. I 
really didn’t knpw. Yet,” and the instinctive rights 
of her womanhood and her future relations with Si 
asserted themselves to her own wonderment, “I had 
what the preachers call an inward promptin’, which 
I felt it my dooty to obey, and I now think it came 


THE BOYS IN THE OLD HOME. 


93 


from God. You know I ought to be with Si as soon 
as anybody/' and she hid her face in her hands in 
maidenly confusion. 

'‘Of course you ought, you dear thing," said Maria, 
her own womanhood overcoming her momentary 
pique. "It was hateful o’ me to speak that way to 
you.” 

And she kissed Annabel effusively, though a little 
deadness still weighed at her heart over being sup- 
planted, even by the girl she liked best in all the 
world after her own sister. 

If the young folks had not been so engaged in 
their own affairs they would have seen the Deacon 
furtively undoing his leathern pocket-book and slip- 
ping a greenback into the weeping Mrs. Blagdon’s 
hand, as the only consolation he was able to give her. 

There were plenty of strong, willing hands to help 
carry Si from the caboose to the wagon. It was 
strange how tender and gentle those strong, rough 
farmers could be in handling a boy who had been 
stricken down in defense of his country. Annabel’s 
face was as red as a hollyhock over the way that 
everybody assumed her right to be next to Si, and 
those who could not get a chance at helping him 
helped her to a seat in the wagon alongside of him, 
while the dethroned Maria took her place by her 
father, as he gathered the reins in his sure hands 
and started home. Maria had to expend some of 
the attentions she meant for Si upon Shorty, who 
received them with awkward confusion. 

"Now, don’t make no great shakes out o’ me. Miss 
Maria,” he pleaded. "I didn’t do nothin’ partickler, 
I tell you. I was only along o’ Si when he snatched 


94 


SI KLEGG. 


that rebel flag, and I got a little crack on the head, 
wjiich wouldn’t ’ve amounted to nothin’, if I hadn’t 
ketched the fever at Chattanoogy. I’m a’most well, 
and only come back home to please the Surgeon, who 
was tired seein’ me around.” 

They found the house a blaze of light, shining 
kindly from the moment it came in sight, and there 
was a welcome in Towser’s bark which touched Si’s 
heart. 

'‘Even the dogs bark differently up here. Shorty,” 
he said. “It’s full and honest, and don’t mean no 
harm. You know that old Towser ain’t barkin’ to 
signal some bushwhackers that the Yankees ’s 
cornin’. It sounds like real music.” 

It was Mrs. Klegg’s turn to receive a shock when 
she rushed out to greet her son, and found Annabel 
by his side. It went deeper to her heart than it had 
to Maria’s ; but, then, she had more philosophy, and 
had foreseen it longer. 

After everything had been done, after she had fed 
them her carefully-prepared dishes, after the boys 
had been put to bed in the warmed room, and she 
knew they were sleeping the sound sleep of deep 
fatigue, she went to her own room to sit down and 
think it all over. There Maria found her, wiping 
away her tears, and took her in her arms, and kissed 
her. 

“It’s right. It’s all right. It’s God’s ways,” said 
the mother. 

“A son’s a son till he gets a wife ; 

But a daughter’s a daughter all her life.” 


CHAPTER VII. 


WEEKS OF CONVALESCENCE — PLENTY OF NURSING 
FROM LOVING, TENDER HANDS. 

W HAT days those were that followed the 
arrival of the boys home. In Shorty's 
hard, rough life he had never so much as 
dreamed of such immaculate housekeeping as Mrs. 
Klegg’s. He had hardly been in speaking distance 
of such women as Si’s mother and sisters. To see 
these bright, blithe, sweet-speeched women moving 
about the well-ordered house in busy performance 
of their duties was a boundless revelation to him. 
It opened up a world of which he had as little con- 
ception as of a fairy realm. For the first time he 
began to understand things that Si had told him of 
his home, yet it meant a hundredfold more to him 
than to Si, for Si had been brought up in that home. 
Shorty began to regard the Deacon and Si as 
superior beings, and to stand in such awe of Mrs. 
Klegg and the girls that he became as tongue-tied 
as a bashful school-boy in their presence. It amazed 
him to hear Si, when the girls would teaze him, 
speak to them as sharply as brothers sometimes will, 
and just as if they were ordinary mortals. 

‘^Si, you orter to be more careful in talkin’ to your 
sisters,” he remonstrated when they were alone. 
‘‘You’ve bin among rough men so long that you 
don’t know how to talk to real ladies.” 

“0, come off,” said Si, petulantly. “What’s 


96 


SI KLEGG. 


a-eatin youi You don’t know them girls as well 
as I do. Particularly Maria. She’ll run right over 
you if you let her. She’s one o’ the best girls that 
ever breathed, but you’ve got to keep a tight rein 
on her. The feller that marries her’s got to keep 
the whip-hand or she’ll make him wish that he’d 
never bin born.” 

Shorty’s heart bounded at the thought of any man 
having the unspeakable happiness of marrying that 
peerless creature, and then having the meanness 
not to let her do precisely as she wanted to. 

Both the boys had been long enough in the field 
to make that plain farm home seem a luxurious 
palace of rest. The beds were wonders of softness 
and warmth, from which no unwelcome reveille or 
cross-grained Orderly-Sergeant aroused them with 
profane threats of extra duty. 

Instead, after peeping cautiously through the door 
to see that they were awake, the girls would come in 
with merry greeting, bowls of warm water, and soft, 
white towels fragrant of the lawn. Maria would 
devote herself to helping Shorty get ready for break- 
fast, and Amanda to Si. Shorty trembled like a 
captured rabbit when Maria first began her minis- 
trations. All his blood rushed to his face, and he 
tried to mumble something about being able to take 
care of himself, which that straightforward young 
woman paid not the slightest attention to. After 
his first fright was over there was a thrilling delight 
about the operation which electrified him. 

When the boys were properly washed and combed, 
Mrs. Klegg, her kind, motherly face beaming with 
consciousness of good and acceptable service, would 


WEEKS OF CONVALESCENCE. 


97 


enter with a large tray, laden with fragrant coffee, 
delicious cream, golden butter, her own peerless 
bread and bits of daintily-broiled chicken. 

'‘Si,'' said Shorty, one morning after he had fin- 
ished the best breakfast he had ever known, the 
girls had gone away with the things, and he was 
leaning back thinking it all over in measureless con- 
tent, “if the preachers'd preach that a feller’d go 
to such a place as this when he died if he was real 
good, how good we'd all be, and we'd be rather 
anxious to die. How in the world are we ever goin' 
to git up spunk enough to leave this and go back 
to the field?" 

“You'll git tired o' this soon enough," said Si. 
“It's awful nice for a change, but I don't want it 
to last long. I want to be able to git up and git 
out. I hate awfully to have women-folks putterin' 
around me." 

The boys could not help rapidly recovering under 
such favorable conditions, and soon they were able 
to sit up most of the day. In the evening, ensconced 
in the big Shaker rocking chairs, sitting on pillows, 
and carefully swathed in blankets, they would sit 
on either side of the bright fire, with the family 
and neighbors forming the semi-circle between, and 
talk over the war interminably. The neighbors all 
had sons and brothers in the army, either in the 
200th Ind. or elsewhere, and were hungry for every 
detail of army news. They plied Si and Shorty with 
questions until the boys' heads ached. Then the 
Deacon would help out with his observations of 
camp-life. 

“I'm not goin' to believe," said one good old 


98 


SI KLEGG. 


brother, who was an exhorter in the Methodist 
Church, '‘that the army is sich a pitfall, sich a snare 
to the feet o’ the unwary as many try to make out. 
There’s no need of any man or boy who goes to serve 
his country and his God, failin’ from grace and 
servin’ the devil. Don’t you think so, too. Deacon? 
There’s no reason why he shouldn’t be jest as good 
a man there as he is at home. Don’t you think so, 
too. Deacon Klegg?” 

“Um — um- -um,” hemmed the Deacon, getting red 
in the face, and avoiding answering the question by 
a vigorous stirring of the fire, while Si slily winked 
at Shorty. “I impressed that on son Jed’s mind 
when he enlisted,” continued the brother. “Jed was 
always a good, straight up-and-down boy; ’never 
gave me or his mother a minute’s uneasiness. I 
told him to have no more to do with cards than with 
smallpox; to avoid liquor as he would the bite of a 
rattlesnake; to take nothin’ from other people that 
he didn’t pay full value for; that swearin’ was a 
pollution to the lips and the heart. I know that Jed 
hearkened to all that I said, and that it sank into 
his heart, and that he’ll come back, if it’s God’s 
will that he shall come back, as good a boy as when 
he went away.” 

Si and Shorty did not trust themselves to look 
at one another before the trusting father’s eyes, for 
Jedediah Bennett, who was one of the best soldiers 
in Co. Q, had developed a skill at poker that put all 
the other boys on their mettle; and as for forag- 
ing — well, neither Si nor Shorty ever looked for any- 
thing in a part where Jed Bennett had been. 

“Deacon,” persisted Mr. Bennett, “you saw a great 


WEEKS OF CONVALESCENCE. 


99 


deal o' the army. You didn't see the wickedness 
down there that these Copperheads 's chargin', did 
you? You only found men wicked that'd be wicked 
any place, and really good men jest as good there 
as at home?" 

'‘It's jest as you say, Mr. Bennett," answered the 
Deacon, coughing to gain time for a diplomatic an- 
swer, and turning so that the boys could not see his 
face. “A wicked man's wicked anywhere, and he 
finds more chance for his wickedness in thd army. 
A good man ought to be good wherever he's placed, 
bui there are positions which are more tryin' than 
others. By the way, Maria, bring us some apples 
and hickory nuts. Bring in a basketful o' them 
Rome Beauties for Mr. Bennett to take home with 
him. You recollect them trees that I budded with 
Rome Beauty scions that I got up the river, don't 
you, Bennett? Well, they bore this year, and I've 
bin calculatin' to send over some for you and Mrs. 
Bennett. I tell you, they're beauties indeed. Big as 
your fist, red as a hollyhock, fragrant as a rose, and 
firm and juicy. I have sent for scions enough to 
bud half my orchard. I won't raise nothin' here- 
after but Rome Beauties and Russets." 

The apples and nuts were brought in, together 
with some of Mrs. Klegg's famous crullers and a 
pitcher of sweet cider, and for awhile all were en- 
gaged in discussing the delicious apples. To para- 
phrase Dr. Johnson, God undoubtedly could make 
a better fruit than a Rome Beauty apple from a 
young tree, growing in the right kind of soil, but 
undoubtedly He never did. The very smell of the 
apple is a mild intoxication, and its firm, juicy flesh 


100 


SI KLEGG. 


has a delicacy of taste that the choicest vintages of 
the Rhine cannot surpass. 

But Mr. Bennett was persistent on the subject of 
morality in the army. He soon refused the offer of 
another apple, laid his knife back on the plate, put 
the plate on the table, wiped his mouth and hands, 
and said: 

‘‘Deacon, these brothers and sisters who have 
come here with me to-night are, like myself, deeply 
interested in the moral condition of the army, where 
we all have sons or kinsmen. Now, can’t you sit 
right there and tell us of your observations and ex- 
periences, as a Christian man and father, from day 
to day, of every day that you were down there ? Tell 
us everything, just as it happened each day, that we 
may be able to judge for ourselves.” 

Si trembled a little, for fear that they had his 
father cornered. But the Deacon was equal to the 
emergency. 

“It’s a’most too late, now, Mr. Bennett,” he said, 
looking at the clock, “for it’s a long story. You 
know I was down there quite a spell. We can’t keep 
these boys out o’ bed late now, and by the time we 
have family worship it’ll be high time for them to 
be tucked in. Won’t you read us a chapter o’ the 
Bible and lead us in prayer. Brother Bennett?” 

While Shorty was rapidly gaining health and 
strength, his mind was ill at ease. He had more time 
than ever to think of Jerusha Briggs, of Bad Ax, 
Wis., and his surroundings accentuated those 
thoughts. He began by wondering what sort of a 
girl she really was, compared to Si’s sisters, and 
whether she was used to such a home as this? Was 


rrrrn 


WEEKS OF CONVALESCENCE. 


101 



SHORTY WENT OUTSIDE WHERE THERE WAS MORE AIR. 


102 


SI KLEGG. 


she as handsome, as fine, as high-spirited as Maria? 
Then his loyal soul reproached him. If she would 
have him he would marry her, no matter who she 
she was. Why should he begin now making com- 
parisons with other girls? Then, she might be far 
finer than Maria. How would he himself compare 
with her, when he dared not even raise his eyes to 
Maria ? 

He had not written her since the Tullahoma cam- 
paign. That seemed an age away, so many things 
had happened in the meanwhile. 

He blamed himself for his neglect, and resolved 
to write at once, to tell her where he was, what had 
happened to him, and that he was going to try to 
visit her before returning to the field. But difficult 
as writing had always been, it was incomparably 
more so now. He found that where he thought of 
Jerusha once, he was thinking of Maria a hundred 
times. Not that he would admit to himself there 
was any likeness in his thoughts about the two girls. 
He did not recognize that there was anything senti- 
mental in those about Maria. She was simply some 
infinitely bright, superior sort of a being, whose 
voice was sweeter than a bird’s, and whose presence 
seemed to brighten the room. He found himself un- 
comfortable when she was out of sight. The com- 
pany of Si or his father was not as all-sufficient and 
interesting as it used to be. When Maria went out 
of the room they became strangely dull and almost 
tiresome, unless they talked of her. 

Worse yet. As he grew stronger and better able 
to take care of himself Maria dropped the familiar- 
ity of the nurse, and began putting him on the foot- 


WEEKS OF CONVALESCENCE. 


103 


ing of a young gentleman and a guest of the house. 
She came no more into the room with the basin of 
warm water, and got him ready for his breakfast. 
She toned down carefully with every improvement 
in his strength. First, she merely brought him the 
basin and towel, and then as he grew able to go about 
she would rap on his door and tell hiih to come out 
and get ready for breakfast. Shorty began to feel 
that he was losing much by getting well, and that 
his convalescence had been entirely too rapid. 

Then he would go off and try to compose his 
thoughts for a letter to Jerusha Briggs, but before 
he knew it he would find himself in the kitchen 
watching, with dumb admiration, Maria knead 
bread, with her sleeves rolled to her shoulders, and 
her white, plump arms and bright face streaked with 
flour. There would be little conversation, for Maria 
would sing with a lark's voice, as she worked, some 
of the sweet old hymns, chording with Amanda, 
busy in another part of the house. Shorty did not 
want to talk. It was enough for him to feast his 
eyes and ears. 

They were sitting down to supper one evening 
when little Sammy Woggles came in from the sta- 
tion. 

‘'There's your Cincinnati Gazette” he said, hand- 
ing the paper to the Deacon, “and there's a letter 
for Si." 

“Open it and read it, Maria," said Si, to whom 
reading of letters meant labor, and he was yet too 
weak for work. 

“It's postmarked Chattanooga, Tenn.," said she, 
scanning the envelope carefully, “and addressed to 


104 


SI KLEGG. 


Sergeant Josiah Klegg, 200th Indiana Volunteer In- 
fantry, Bean Blossom Creek, Ind/^ 

“Sergeant!'' ejaculated Si, Shorty and the Dea- 
con, in the same breath. “Are you sure it's Ser- 
geant ?" 

“Yes, it's Sergeant," said Maria, spelling the title 
out. “Who in the world do you s'pose it's from. 
Si?" 

“It don't seem to occur to you that you could find 
out by openin' it," said the Deacon, sarcastically. 

“Open it and see who it's from," said Si. 

“The man writes a mighty nice hand," said Maria, 
scanning the superscription. “Just like that man 
that taught writing-school here last Winter. It 
can't be from him, can it? Didn't s'pose there was 
anybody in your company that could write as well 
as that. Look, Si, and see if you can tell whose 
handwritin' it is." 

“0, open it, Maria," groaned Si, “and you'll likely 
find his name writ somewhere inside." 

“Don't be so impatient. Si," said Maria, feeling 
around for a hair-pin with which to rip open the 
envelope. “You're gittin' crosser'n two sticks since 
you're gittin' well." 

“He certainly does write a nice hand," said Maria, 
scanning the inclosure deliberately. “Just see how 
he makes his d's and s's. All his up-strokes are 
light, and all his down ones are heavy, just as the 
writing-master used to teach. And his curves are 
just lovely. And what a funny name he has signed. 
J. T. No; I. T. No; that's a J, because it comes 
down below the line. M-c-G-i-1-1 — I can't make out 
the rest.'' 


WEEKS OF CONVALESCENCE. 


105 


‘^McGillicuddy ; ain’t that it?” said Si eagerly. 
'‘It’s from Capt. McGillicuddy. Read it, Maria.” 

“McGillicuddy. Well, of all the names !” said that 
deliberate young woman. “Do you really mean to* 
say that any man has really such a name as that?” 

“ ’Mandy, take that letter away from her and read 
it,” commanded Si. 

“Well, I’m goin’ to read your old letter for you, 
if you’ll just gi’ me time,” remonstrated Maria. 
“What are you in such a hurry for, old cross-patch? 
Le’ me see: 

“Headquarters, Co. Q, 200th Indiana Volunteer 
Infantry. 

“Chattanooga, Tenn., Nov. 20, 1863. 
“Sergeant Josiah Klegg. 

“Dear Klegg: I have not heard from you since 
you left, but I am going to hope that you are get- 
ting well right along. All the boys think of you 
and Shorty, and send their love and their hopes that 
you will soon be back with us. We all miss you very 
much. 

“I have some good news for you and Shorty. On 
my recommendation the Colonel has issued a special 
order promoting you Sergeant and Shorty Cor- 
poral, for gallant and meritorious services at the 
battle of Chickamauga, in which you captured a 
rebel flag. The order was read on parade this even- 
ing. So it is Sergeant Klegg and Corporal Elliott 
hereafter, and they will be obeyed and respected 
accordingly. You will take poor Pettibone's place, 
and Elliott will take Harney’s. 

“I do not know where Elliott is, but expect that 


106 


SI KLEGG. 


he is with you. If so, give him the news, and also 
the inclosed letter, which came to me. If not, and 
you know where he is, write him. 

‘‘Write me as soon as you can. We are all get- 
ting along very well, especially since Grant came 
up and opened our cracker line. My little hurt is 
healing nicely, so that I can go about with a cane. 
We are all getting ready to jump old Bragg on Mis- 
sion Ridge, and I am going to do my best to go along 
at the head of Co. Q, though I have been Acting 
Major and Lieutenant-Colonel since I got up. 

“Regards to your father, and believe me, sincerely 
your friend, 

“J. T. McGillicuddy, 
“Captain, Co. Q, 200th Ind. Inf. Vols.’’ 

Maria passed the letter over to Si to read again, 
and without m^re ado opened the inclosure. As she 
did so, a glance of recognition of the handwriting 
flashed upon Shorty, and he started to take the let- 
ter from her, but felt ashamed to do so. 

“Why, this is from a woman,” said Maria, “and 
she writes an awful bad, scratchy hand.” Being 
a woman's letter she was bound to read it without 
loss of time, and she did so: 

“Bad Ax, Wis., Nov. 10. 

“Capt. McGillicuddy. 

“Dear Sir : I believe you command the company ^ 
as they call it, in which there was^•:'a^ gentleman 
named Mr. Elliott. The papers reports that he was 
kild at thfe battle of Chickamaugy. I had some 
correspondence with him, and I sent him my picture. 


WEEKS OF CONVALESCENCE. 


107 


Would you kindly write me the particklers of his 
death, and also what was done with sich letters and 
other things that he had? I would very much like 
to have you return me my letters and picture if you 
have them. Send them by express to Miss Jerusha 
Briggs, at this plais, and I will pay the charges. I 
will explain to you why I want them sent to a difrunt 
naim than that which I sign. Upon learnin’ of Mr. 
Elliott's deth I excepted the addresses of Mr. Adams, 
whose wife passed away last summer. You may 
think I was in a hurry, but widowers always mene 
bizniss when they go a>courtin', as you will, know 
if ever you was a widower, and he had two little 
girls who needed a mother's care. My husband is 
inclined to be jelous, as widowers usually are, and 
I don't want him to ever know nothin' about my let- 
ters to Mr. Elliott, and him havin' my picture. I am 
goin' to ask you to help me, as a gentleman and a 
Christian, and to keep this confidential. 

‘'Very respectfully, 

“Mrs. Benj. F. Adams." 

They all listened eagerly to the reading of the let- 
ter, and when it was finished looked for Shorty. But 
he had gone outside, where there was more air. 


CHAPTER VIII. 


SI IS PROMOTED — ANNABEL APPPRISED OF IT — SHORTY 
MEETS JERUSHA. 

A nnabel came in just as the reading of the 
letter was finished and her arrival caused 
a commotion in the family, as it always did, 
which momentarily distracted attention from the 
missive and Shorty’s absence. She and the mother 
and daughters had to exchange kisses and news 
about the health of both families. Then she had to 
give a filial kiss to the Deacon, who had already 
begun to assume paternal airs toward her, and 
finally she got around to Si. Neither of them had 
yet got to the point of “kissing before folks,” and 
had to be content with furtive squeezing of hands. 
Si’s heart was aching to have Annabel read Capt. 
McGillicuddy’s letter, yet such was his shame-faced 
modesty that not for the world would he have 
alluded to it before the family. If he had been alone 
with her, he might have slipped the letter unopened 
into her hand, with a shy request for her to read 
it, but so sternly was the Deacon and his family set 
against anything like “vainglory” and “self-praise” 
that he could not bring himself to mention that such 
a letter had been received. At last, when full par- 
ticulars had been given about the spread of measles 
and whooping-cough, who was to preach and who to 
be baptized at the coming quarterly meeting, Maria’s 


SI IS PROMOTED. 


109 


active mind turned to things nearer Si’s heart, and 
she said: 

“O, Si’s got sich a nice letter from his officer-boss, 
his Corporal, or Colonel, or General, or whatever 
they call him — Mister” 

‘‘My Captain — Capt. McGillicuddy, Maria,” said 
Si, reddening at Maria's indifference to and ignor- 
ance of military titles. 

“Yes, Mr. McMillifuddy. Did you ever hear of 
such a ridiculous name?” 

“McGillicuddy — Capt. McGillicuddy, Maria. Why 
can’t you get his name right?” 

“Well, if I had sich a name as that I wouldn’t ex- 
pect people to git it right. There’s no sense in 
havin’ a Dutch name that makes your tongue crack 
like a whip. Well, this Mr. McFillemgoody is Si’s 
boss, and he writes a nice letter, and says Si done 
so well at Chickamaugy that some other boss — a 
Colonel or Corporal” 

“The Colonel, Maria. The Colonel commands the 
whole regiment. Won’t you never know the differ- 
ence? A Colonel’s much higher than a Corporal. 
You girls never will learn nothin’..” 

“Well, I never kin tell t’other from which,” re- 
plied Maria, petulantly. “And I don’t have to. I 
don’t care a hill o’ beans whether a Corporal bosses 
or a Colonel, or t’other way. Anyhow, Si’s no longer 
a Corporal. He’s a Sargint.” 

“0, Si,” said Annabel, her big blue eyes filling 
with grief ; “I’m so sorry.” 

“Why, Annabel,” said Si, considerably abashed; 
“what’s the matter? Don’t you understand. I’m 
promoted. Sergeant’s higher than a Corporal.” 


110 


SI KLEGG. 


“Is it really?’' said Annabel, whose tears were 
beginning to come. “It don’t sound like it. Sar- 
gint don’t sound near so big as Corporal. I always 
thought that Corporal was the very purtiest title 
in the whole army. None o’ the rest o’ them big 
names sounded half so nice. Whenever I saw Cor- 
poral in the papers I always thought of you.” 

“Well, you must learn to like Sergeant just as 
well,” said Si, fondly squeezing her hand. “Maria, 
let her read the letter.” 

“Well, Mr. 'Gillmacfuddy does seem like a real 
nice, sociable sort of a man, in spite of his name,” 
she commented, as she finished. “And I like him, 
because he seems to be such a good friend o’ yours. 
I s’pose him and you board together, and eat at 
the same table when you are in the army, don’t 
you?” 

“0, no, we don’t,” said Si patiently, for her 
ignorance seemed beautifully feminine, where 
Maria’s was provoking. “You see, dear, he’s my 
Captain — commands about a hundred sich as me, 
and wears a sword and shoulder-straps and other 
fine clothes, and .orders me and the rest around, and 
has his own tent, all by himself, and his servant 
to cook for him, and we have to salute him, and 
do jest what he says, and not talk back — at least, 
so he kin hear it, and jest lots o’ things.” 

“Then I don’t like him a bit,” pouted Annabel. 
“He’s a horrid, stuck-up thing, and puts on airs. 
And he hain’t got no business to put on airs over 
you. Nobody’s got any right to put on airs over 
you, for you’re as good as anybody alive.” 

Si saw that this task of making Annabel under- 


SI IS PROMOTED. 


Ill 


stand the reason for military rank was going to 
take some time, and could be better done when 
they were by themselves, and he took her out by the 
kitchen-fire to make the explanation. 

For the very first time in his whole life Shorty 
had run away from a crisis. With his genuine love 
of fighting, he rather welcomed any awkward situ- 
ation in which men were concerned. It was a chal- 
lenge to him, and he would carry himself through 
with a mixture of brass, bravado and downright 
hard fighting. But he would have much more will- 
ingly faced the concentrated fire of all the batteries 
in Bragg’s army than Maria’s eyes as she raised 
them from that letter; and as for the comments 
of her sharp tongue — well, far rather give him Long- 
street’s demons charging out of the woods onto 
Snodgrass Hill. He walked out into the barn, and 
leaned against the fanning-mill to think it all over. 
His ears burned with the imagination of what Maria 
was saying. He was very uncomfortable over what 
the rest of the family were thinking and saying, 
particularly the view that dear old Mrs. Klegg might 
take. With the Deacon and Si it was wholly differ- 
ent. He knew that, manlike, they averaged him up, 
one day with another, and gave him the proper bal- 
ance to his credit. But Maria — ^there everything 
turned to gall, and he hated the very name of Bad 
Ax, the whole State of Wisconsin and everybody in 
it. He would never dare go back into the house and 
face the family. What could he do ? There was only 
one things — get back to his own honie, the army, as 
soon as possible. 

Little Sammy Woggles came out presently to get 


112 


SI KLEGG. 


some wood. Shorty called him to him.* There was 
something fascinatingly mysterious in his tones and 
actions to that youth, who devoured dime novels on 
the sly. 

'‘Sammy,'' said Shorty, “I'm goin' away, right off, 
and I don't want the people in the house to know 
nothin' of it. I want you to help me." 

“You bet I will," responded the boy, with his eyes 
dancing. “Goin' to run away? I'm goin to run 
away myself some day. I'm awful tired o' havin' 
to git up in the mornin', wash my face and comb 
' my hair, and do the chores, and kneel down at family 
prayers, and go to Sunday school, and stay through 
church, and then have to spell out a chapter in the 
Bible in the afternoon. I'm goin' to run away, and 
be a soldier, or go out on the plains and kill Injuns. 
I'm layin' away things now for it. See here?" 

And he conducted Shorty with much mystery to a 
place behind the haymow, where he had secreted an 
old single-barreled pistol and a falseface. 

“You little brat," said Shorty, “git all them fool 
notions out o' your head. This 's the best home 
you'll ever see, and you stay here just as long as 
the Lord'll let you. You're playin' in high luck to 
be here. Don't you ever leave, on no account." 

“Then why're you goin' to run away," asked the 
boy wonderingly. 

“That's my business. Something you can't under- 
stand, nohow. Now, I want you to slip around there 
and git my overcoat and things and bring 'em out to 
me, without nobody seein' you. Do it at once." 

While Sammy was gone for the things Shorty la- 


SI IS PROMOTED, 


113 



“SAMMY/’ SAID SHORTY, “I’M GOIN’ AWAY RIGHT OFF, 
AND I don’t want THE PEOPLE TO KNOW 
NOTHIN’ OF IT.” 


114 


SI KLEGG. 


boriously wrote out a note to Si upon a sheet of 
brown paper. It read : 

''Deer Si; ive jest red in the papers that the 
army's goin’ 2 move rite off. i no tha need me bad 
in the kumpany, for tha are short on Korprils, & 
tha can't do nothin' without Korprils. ive jest time 
2 ketch the nekst traine, & ime goin' thare ez fast 
ez steme kin carry me. Good-by & luv 2 all the folks. 

"Yours, Shorty." 

"There, Sammy," he said, as he folded it up and 
gave it to the boy; "keep that quiet until about bed 
time, when they begin to inquire about me. By 
that time I'll 've ketched the train goin' east, and 
be skippin' out for the army. By the way, Sammy, 
can't you sneak into Miss Maria's room, and steal 
a piece o' ribbon, or something that belongs to her?" 

"I've got a big piece o' that new red Sunday dress 
o' her's," said Sammy, going to his storehouse and 
producing it. "I cribbed it once, to make me a flag 
or something, when I'd be out flghtin' the Injuns. 
Will that do you?" 

"Bully," said Shorty, with the first joyous emotion 
since the reception of the letter. "It's jest the 
thing. Here's a half-dollar for you. Now, Sammy, 
kin you write?" 

"They're makin' me learn, and that's one reason 
why I want to run away," with a doleful remem- 
brance of his own grievances. "What's the use of 
it. I'd like to know? It cramps my fingers and 
makes my head ache. Simon Kenton couldn't write 
his own name, but he killed more Injuns than ary 


SI IS PROMOTED. 


115 


other man in the country. I guess you’d want to 
run away, too, if they made you learn to write.” 

‘'You little brat,” said Shorty reprovingly; “you 
don’t know what’s good for you. You do as they 
say, and learn to write as quick as you kin.” Then, 
in a softer tone : “Now, Sammy, I want you to prom- 
ise to write me a long letter — two sheets o’ fools- 
cap” — 

“Why, I never writ so much in all my life,” pro- 
tested the boy. “It’d take me a year.” 

“Well, you’ve got to, now, and it mustn’t take 
you two weeks. Here’s a dollar for you, and when 
I git the letter I’ll send you home a real rebel gun. 
Now, you’re to cross your heart and promise on your 
sacred word and honor that you’ll keep this secret 
from everybody, not to tell a word to nobody. You 
must tell me all about what they say about me, and 
partickerlerly what Miss Maria says. Tell me every- 
thing you kin about Miss Maria, and who goes with 
her.” 

“What makes you like Maria better’n you do 
’Mandy?” inquired the boy. “I like ’Mandy lots 
the best. She’s heap purtier, and lots more fun, and 
don’t boss me around like Maria does.” 

“That’s all you know about it, you little skeezics. 
She don’t boss you around half as much as she ought 
to.” Then gentler: “Now, Sammy, do jest as I say, 
and I’ll send you home a real rebel gun jest as soon 
as I get your letter.” 

“A real gun, that’ll be all my own, and will shoot 
and kick, and crack loud?” 

“Yes, a genuine rebel gun, that you kin shoot 
crows with and celebrate Christmas, and kill a dog.” 


116 


SI KLEGG. 


“Well, ril write you a letter if it twists my fingers 
off,'' said the boy joyously. 

“And you hope to be struck dead if you tell a 
word to anybody?" 

“Yes, indeedy," said the boy, crossing his heart 
earnestly. Shorty folded up the piece of dress goods 
tenderly, placed it securely in the breast-pocket of 
his blouse, and trudged over to the station, stopping 
on the summit of the hill to take a last look at the 
house. It was a long, hard walk for him, for he was 
yet far from strong, but he got there before train 
time. 

It was the through train to St. Louis that he 
boarded, and the only vacant seat that he could find 
was one partially filled with the belongings of a 
couple sitting facing it, and very close together. They 
had hold of one another's hands, and quite clearly 
were dressed better than they were accustomed to. 
The man was approaching middle age, and wore a 
shiny silk hat, a suit of broadcloth, with a satin vest, 
and a heavy silver v/atch chain. His face was rather 
strong and hard, and showed exposure to rough 
weather. The woman was not so much younger, 
was tall and angular, rather uncomfortably con- 
scious of her good clothes, and had a firm, settled 
look about her mouth and eyes, which only partially 
disappeared in response to the man's persistent en- 
dearments. Still, she seemed more annoyed than he 
did at the seating of another party in front of them, 
whose eyes would be upon them. The man lifted 
the things to make room for Shorty, who commented 
to himself : 


SI IS PROMOTED. 


117 


“Should think they was bride and groom, if they 
wasn't so old." 

There was a vague hint that he had seen the face 
somewhere, but he dismissed it, then settled himself, 
and, busy with his own thoughts, pressed his face 
against the window, and tried to recognize through 
the darkness the objects by which they were rush- 
ing. They were all deeply interesting to him, for 
they were part of Maria's home and surroundings. 

After awhile the man appeared temporarily tired 
of billing and cooing, and thought conversation with 
some one else would give variety to the trip. He 
opened their lunch-basket, took out something for 
himself and his companion to eat, nudged Shorty, 
and offered him a generous handful. Shorty 
promptly accepted, for he had the perennial hunger 
of convalescence, and his supper had been inter- 
rupted. 

“Going back to the army ?" inquired the man, with 
his mouth full of chicken, and by way of opening 
up the conversation. 

^‘Um — huh," said Shorty, nodding assent. 

“Where do you belong?" 

“200th Injianny Volunteer Infantry." 

If Shorty had been noticing the woman he would 
have seen her start, but would have attributed it 
to the lurching of the cars. She lost interest in 
the chicken leg she was picking, and listened to the 
continuance of the conversation. 

“I mean, what army do you belong to?" 

“Army o' the Cumberland, down at Chattanoogy." 

“Indeed ; I might say that I belong to that army 
myself. Tm going down that way, too. You see. 


118 


SI KLEGG. 


my Congressman helped me get a contract for fur- 
nishing the Army o’ the Cumberland with bridge 
timber, and I’m going down to Looeyville, and 
mebbe further, to see about it. We’ve just come 
from St. Louis, where I’ve bin deliverin’ some tim- 
ber in rafts.” 

'‘Where are you from?’ 

“Bad Ax, Wisconsin, a little ways from La 
Crosse.” 

It was Shorty’s turn to start, and it flashed upon 
him just where he had seen that squarish face. 
It was in an ambrotype that he carried in his breast- 
pocket. He almost choked on the merrythought of 
the chicken, but recovered himself, and said quickly : 

“I have heard o’ the place. Lived there long?” 

“Always, you might say. Father took me there 
as a child during the mine excitement, growed up 
there, went into business, married, lost my wife, and 
married again. We’re now on what you might call 
our bridal tower. I had to come down here on busi- 
ness, so I brung my wife along, and worked it off 
on her as our bridal tower. Purty cute, don’t you 
think?” 

And he reached over and tried to squeeze his 
wife’s hand, but she repulsed it. 

The bridegroom plied Shorty with questions as to 
the army for awhile after they had finished eating, 
and then arose and remarked: 

“I’m goin’ into the smokin’-car for a smoke. 
Won’t you come along with me, soldier, and have 
a cigar?” 

“No, thankee,” answered Shorty. “I’d like to. 


SI IS PROMOTED. 


119 


awfully, but the doctor's shut down on my smokin' 
till I git well." 

As soon as he was well on his way the woman 
leaned forward and asked Shorty in an earnest tone : 

‘‘Did you say that you belonged to the 200th Ind. ?" 

‘"Yes'm," said Shorty very meekly. 'To Co. Q." 

"The very same company," gasped the woman. 
"Did you happen to know a Mr. Daniel Elliott in 
that company?" 

"Very well, mum. Knowed him almost as well 
as if he was my own brother." 

"What sort of a man was he?" 

"Awful nice feller. I thought a heap of him. 
Thought more of him than any other man in the 
company. A nicer man you never knowed. Didn't 
drink, nor swear, nor play cards, nor chaw terbacker. 
Used to go to church every Sunday. Chaplain 
thought a heap of him. Used to call him his right 
bower — I mean his strong suit — I mean his two 
pair — ace high. No, neither o' them's just the word 
the Chaplain used, but it was something just as 
good, but more Bible-like." 

"I'm so glad to hear it," murmured the woman. 

"0, he was an ornament to the army," continued 
the unblushing Shorty, who hadn't had a good oppor- 
tunity to lie in all the weeks that the Deacon had 
been with him, and wanted to exercise his old talent, 
to see whether he had lost it. "And the handsomest 
man ! There wasn't a finer-looking man in the whole 
army. The Colonel used to get awfully jealous o' 
him, because everybody that'd come into camp 'd 
mistake him for the Colonel. He'd 'a' bin Colonel, 
too, if he'd only lived. But the poor fellow broke 


120 


SI KLEGG. 


his heart. He fell in love with a girl somewhere 
up North — Pewter Hatchet, or some place like that. 
I never saw her, and don’t know nothin’ about her, 
but I heard that the boys from her place said that 
she was no match for him. She was only plain, 
ordinary-lookin’.” 

“That wasn’t true,” said the woman, under her 
breath. 

“All the same, Elliott was dead-stuck on her. 
Bimeby he heard some way that some stay-at-home 
widower was settin’ up to her, and she was encour- 
agin’ him, and finally married him. When Elliott 
heard that he was completely beside himself. He 
lost all appetite for everything but whisky and the 
blood of widowers. Whenever he found a man who 
was a widower he wanted to kill him. At Chick- 
amauga, he’d pick out the men that looked old 
enough to be widowers, and shoot at them, and no 
others. In the last charge he got separated, and was 
by himself with a tall rebel with a gray beard. T 
surrender,’ said the rebel. ^Are you a widower?’ 
asked Elliott. T’m sorry to say that my wife’s 
dead,’ said the rebel. Then you can’t surrender. 
I’m goin’ to kill you,’ said Elliott. But he’d bin 
throwed off his guard by too much talkin’. The rebel 
got the drop on him, and killed him.” 

“It ain’t true that his girl went back on him be- 
fore she heard he was killed,” said the woman 
angrily, forgetting herself. “She only married 
after the report of his death in the papers.” 

“Jerusha,” said Shorty, pulling out the letters and 
picture, rising to his feet, and assuming as well as 
he could in the rocking car the pose and manner of 


SI IS PROMOTED. 


121 


the indignant lovers he had seen in melodramas, 
“I’m Dan Elliott, and your own true love, whose 
heart you’ve broke. When I learned of your faith- 
lessness I sought death, but death went back on me. 
I’ve come back from the grave to reproach you. 
You preferred the love of a second-hand husband, 
with a silver watch-chain and a raft o’ logs, to that 
of an honest soldier who had no fortune but his 
patriotic heart and his Springfield rifle. But I’ll 
not be cruel to you. There are the evidences of 
your faithlessness, that you was so anxious to git 
hold of. Your secret’s safe in this true heart. Take 
’em and be happy with your bridge-timber contrac- 
tor. Be a lovin’ wife to your warmed-over husband. 
Be proud of his speculations on the needs o’ his 
country. As for me. I’ll go agin to seek a soldier’s 
grave, for I cannot forgit you.” 

As he handed her the letters and picture he was 
dismayed to notice that the piece of Maria’s dress 
was mixed in with them. He snatched it away, 
shoved it back in his pocket, pulled his hat down 
over his eyes, and, with a melodramatic air, rushed 
forward into the smoking-car, where he seated him- 
self and at once fell asleep. 

He was awakened in the morning at Jefferson- 
ville, by the provost-guard shaking him and demand- 
ing his pass. 


CHAPTER IX. 


SHORTY IN TROUBLE — HAS AN ENCOUNTER WITH THE 
PROVOST-MARSHAL. 

UJT AINT got no pass/^ said Shorty, in response 
J[ to the demand of the Provost-Guard. '‘Bin 
home on sick-furlough. Coin’ back to the 
front now. Left my papers at home. Forgot 'em.’' 

“Heard all about lost and missing papers before," 
said the Sergeant drily. “Fall in there, under 
guard." And he motioned Shorty to join the gang 
of stragglers and runaways which had already been 
gathered up. 

“Look here. Sergeant," remonstrated Shorty, “I 
don't belong in that pack o' shell-fever invalids, and 
I won't fall in with 'em. There's no yaller or cotton 
in me. I’m straight goods, all wool, and indigo- 
dyed. I've bin promoted Corpril in my company for 
good conduct at Chickamauga. I’m goin' back to 
my regiment o’ my own accord, before my time's 
up, and I propose to go my own way. I won’t go 
under guard." 

“You’ll have to, if you can’t show a pass," said 
the Sergeant decisively. “If you’re a soldier you 
know what orders are. Our orders are to arrest 
every man that can’t show a pass, and bring him 
up to Provost Headquarters. Fall in there without 
any more words." 

“I tell you I'm not goin' back to the regiment 
under guard," said Shorty resolutely. “I've no busi- 


SHORTY IN TROUBLE. 


123 


ness to go back at all, now. My furlough ain't up 
for two weeks more. I'm goin' back now of my own 
free will, and in my own way. Go along with your 
old guard, and pick up them deadbeats and sneaks, 
that don't want to go back at all. You'll have 
plenty o' work with them, without pesterin' me." 

‘‘And I tell you you must go," said the Sergeant, 
irritably, and turning away, as if to end the discus- 
sion. “Williams, you and Young bring him along." 

“I'll not go a step under guard, and you can't 
make me," answered Shorty furiously, snatching 
up the heavy poker from the stove. “You lunk- 
headed, feather-bed soldiers jest keep your distance, 
if you know what's good for you. I didn't come 
back here from the front to be monkeyed with by a 
passel o' fellers that wear white gloves and dress- 
coats, and eat soft bread. Go off, and 'tend your 
own bizniss, and I'll 'tend to mine." 

The Sergeant turned back and looked at him at- 
tentively. 

“See here," he said, after a moment's pause. 
“Don't you belong to the 200th Ind.?" 

“You bet I do. Best regiment in the Army o' the 
Cumberland." 

“You're the feller they call Shorty, of Co. Q?" 

Shorty nodded assent. 

“I thought I'd seen you somewhere, the moment 
I laid eyes on you," said the Sergeant in a friendly 
tone. “But I couldn't place you. You've changed a 
good deal. You're thinner'n a fishing-rod." 

“Never had no meat to spare," acquiesced Shorty, 
“but I'm an Alderman now to what I was six weeks 
ago. Got a welt on my head at Chickamaugy, and 


124 


SI KLEGG. 


then the camp fever at Chattanoogy, which run me 
down till I couldVe crawled through a greased 
flute/’ 

'‘Well, I’m Jim Elkins. Used to belong to Co. 
A,” replied the Sergeant. “I recollect your steal- 
ing the caboose door down there at Murfreesboro. 
Say, that was great. How that conductor ripped 
and swore when he found his door was gone. I got 
an ax from you. You never knew who took it, did 
you? Well, it was me. I wanted the ax, but I 
wanted still more to show you that there was some- 
body in the camp just as slick on the forage as you 
were. But I got paid for it. The blamed old ax 
glanced one day, while I was chopping, and whacked 
me on the knee.” 

“A thief always gits fetched up with,” said 
Shorty, in a tone of profound moralizing. “But 
since it had to go I’m glad one o’ our own boys got 
it. I snatched another and a better one that night 
from the Ohio boys. I’m awful sorry you got hurt. 
Was it bad?” 

“Yes. The doctors thought I’d lose my leg, and 
discharged me. But I got well, and as soon as 
they’d take me I re-enlisted. Wish I was back in 
the old regiment, though. Say, you’ll have to go to 
Headquarters with me, because that’s orders, but 
you just walk alongside o’ me. I want to talk to 
you about the boys.” 

As they walked along, the Sergeant found an op- 
portunity to say in low tone, so that the rest could 
not hear: 

“Old Billings, who used to be Lieutenant-Colonel, 
is Provost-Marshal, He’s Lieutenant-Colonel of our 


SHORTY IN TROUBLE. 


125 


regiment. He'll be likely to give you a great song 
and dance, especially if he finds out that you be- 
longed to the old regiment. But don't let it sink too 
deep on you. I'll stand by you, if there's anything 
I can do." 

''Much obliged," said Shorty, "but I'm all right, 
and I oughtn't to need any standing by from any- 
body. That old fly-up-the-crick ought to be ashamed 
to even speak to a man who's bin fightin' at the 
front, while he was playin' off around home." 

"He'll have plenty to say all the same," returned 
the Sergeant. "He's got one o' these self-acting 
mouths, with a perpetual-motion attachment. He 
don't do anything but talk, and mostly bad. Blame 
him, it's his fault that we're kept here, instead of 
being sent to the front, as we ought to be. Wish 
somebody'd shoot him." 

The Provost-Marshal was found in his office, deal- 
ing out sentences like a shoulder-strapped Rhada- 
manthes. It was a place that just suited Billings's 
tastes. There he could bully to his heart's content, 
with no chance for his victims getting back at him, 
and could make it very uncomfortable for those who 
were disposed to sneer at his military career. With 
a scowl on his brow, and a big chew of tobacco in 
his mouth, he sat in his chair, and disposed of the 
cases brought before him with abusive comments, 
and in the ways that he thought would give the men 
the most pain and trouble. It was a manifestation 
of his power that he gloated over. 

"Take the position of soldiers, you slouching clod- 
hoppers," he said, with an assortment of oaths, as 
the squad entered the office. "One'd think you a 


126 


SI KLEGG. 


passel o’ hawbucks half-drunk at a log-rollin’, in- 
stead o’ soldiers in the presence o’ your superior 
officer. Shut them gapin’ mouths, lift up them 
shock-heads, button up your blouses, put your hands 
down to your sides, and don’t no man speak to me 
without salootin’. And mind what you say, or I’ll 
give you a spell on bread and water, and send you 
back in irons. I want you to understand that I’ll 
have no foolishness. You can’t monkey with me as 
you can with some officers. 

“Had your pocket picked, and your furlough as 
well as your money taken,” he sneered to the first 
statement. “You expect me to believe that, you 
sickly-faced yallerhammer. I’ll just give you five 
days’ hard labor before sending you back, for lying 
to me. Go over there to the left, and take your 
place in that police squad.” 

“No,” he said to the second, “that sick mother 
racket won’t work. Every man we ketch now skulk- 
ing home is goin’ to see his sick and dying mother. 
There wouldn’t be no army if we allowed every man 
who has a sick mother to go and visit her. None o’ 
your back talk, or I’ll put the irons on you.” 

“No,” to a third, “you can’t go back to your 
boarding place for your things, not even with a 
guard. I know you. You’d give the guard the slip 
before you went 10 rods. Let your things go. Prob- 
ably you stole ’em, anyway.” 

Lieut.-Col. Billings’s eye lighted on Shorty, with 
an expression of having seen him somewhere. 

“Where do you belong?” he asked crossly. 

“Co. Q, 200th Injianny Volunteer Infantry,” re- 
plied Shorty proudly. 


SHORTY IN TROUBLE. 


127 


‘'Yes. I remember you now,” said the Provost- 
Marshal savagely. You’re one o’ them infernal nig- 
ger-thieves that brung disgrace on the regiment. 
You’re one o’ them that made it so notorious that 
decent men who had a respect for other people’s 
property was glad to get out of it.” 

“You’re a liar,’’ said Shorty hotly. “You didn’t 
git out o’ the regiment because it stole niggers. 
That’s only a pretend. The rear is full o’ fellers 
like you who pretend to be sore on the nigger ques- 
tion, as an excuse for not going to the front. You 
sneaked out o’ every fight the regiment went into. 
You got out of the regiment because it was too fond 
of doin’ its duty” 

“Shut up, you scoundrel ! Buck-and-gag him, 
men,” roared Billings, rising and shaking his fist at 
him. 

“Stop that! You musn’t talk that way,” said the 
Sergeant, going over to Shorty, and shaking him 
roughly, while he whispered, “Don’t make a blamed 
fool o’ yourself. Keep quiet.” 

“I won’t stop,’^ said Shorty angrily; “I won't let 
no man talk that way about the 200th Ind., no mat- 
ter if he wears as many leaves on his shoulders as 
there is on a beech tree. I’d tell the Major-General 
that he lied if he slandered the regiment, if I died 
for it the next minute.” 

“I order you to take him out and buck-and-gag 
him,” shouted the Provost-Marshal. 

The Sergeant caught Shorty by the shoulder, and 
pushed him out of the room, with much apparent 
roughness, but really using no more force than 


128 


SI KLEGG. 


would make a show, while muttering his adjura- 
tions to cool down. 

“I spose Fve got to obey orders, and buck-and- 
gag you,” said the Sergeant ruefully, as they were 
alone together in the room. “It goes against my 
grain, like the toothache. I’d rather you’d buck- 
and-gag me. But you are to blame for it yourself. 
You ought to have more sense than lay it into a 
Lietenant-Colonel and Provost-Marshal that way. 
But you did give it to him fine, the old blow-hard 
and whisky-sucker. He’s no more fit for shoulder- 
straps than a hog is for a paper-collar. Haven’t 
heard anything for a long time that tickled me so, 
even while I was mad enough to pound you for hav- 
ing no more sense. I’ve bin aching to talk that way 
to him myself.” 

“Go ahead and obey your orders,” said Shorty. 
“Don’t mind me. I’m willin’ to take it. I’ve had 
iny say, which was worth a whole week o’ buckin’. 
It ’ll be something to tell the boys when I git back, 
that I saw old Billings swellin’ around, and told him 
right before his own men just what we think of 
him. Lord, how it ’ll tickle ’em. I’ll forgit all about 
the buckin’, but they won’t forgit that.” 

“Blamed if I’ll do it,” said the Sergeant. “He 
can take off my stripes, and be blest to him. You 
said just what I think, and what we all think, and 
I ought to stand by you. I’ve a notion to go right 
back in the room and tell him I won’t do it, and pull 
off my stripes and hand ’em to him, and tell him to 
take ’em and go to Halifax.” 

“Now, don’t be a fool, Jim,” remonstrated Shorty. 
“You won’t help me, and you’ll git yourself into 


SHORTY IN TROUBLE. 


129 





‘WHY, it’s shorty!” SAID THE GENERAL, 
’ RECOGNIZING HIM AT ONCE. 


130 


SI KLEGG. 


trouble. Somebody’s got to do it, and I’d rather it*d 
be you than somebody else. Go ahead and obey 
your orders. Git your rope and your stick and your 
bayonet.” 

'‘They’re all here,” said the Sergeant, producing 
them, with a regretful air. “We’ve plenty of use 
for them as long as old Billings is on deck. Say,” 
said he, stopping, as a brighter look came into his 
face, “I’ve got an idea.” 

“Hold on to it till you kin mark its ears, so’s 
you’ll know it again for your property,’’ said Shorty 
sarcastically. “Good idees are skeerce and valua- 
ble.” 

“Jeff Wilson, the General’s Chief Clerk, who be- 
longs to my company,” said the Sergeant, “told me 
yesterday that they wanted another Orderly, and to 
pick out one for him. I’ll send a note for him to 
detail you right off.” 

He hastily scratched off the following note on a 
piece of wrapping paper, folded it up, and sent se- 
cretly one of his boys on a run with it : 

“Dear Jeff : Found you a first-class Orderly. It’s 
Shorty, of my old regiment. He’s in Billings’s 
clutches, and in trouble. Send down a detail at 
once for Shorty Elliott, Co. Q, 200th Ind. Rush. 
Yours, Jim.” 

“Here, Sergeant,” called out the Provost-Marshal 
from the other room, “what are you fooling around 
in there so long for?” 

“Somebody’s been monkeying with my things,” 
called back the Sergeant. “If they don’t let ’em 
alone I’ll scalp somebody.” 

“Well, get through, and come out here, for there’s 


SHORTY IN TROUBLE. 


131 


some more work for you. Make a good job with 
that scoundrel. Fll be in presently and see it.'' 

Shorty squatted down, and the Sergeant made as 
easy going an imitation as he could of the punish- 
ment. 

The messenger encountered the young General 
near by, limping along on a conscientious morning 
inspection of things about his post. He had been 
but recently assigned to the position, to employ him 
while he was getting well of his wound received at 
Chickamauga, and was making a characteristic 
effort to know all about his command. He had sent 
his staff on various errands, but had his Chief Clerk 
with him to make notes. 

What's that?" he inquired, as the messenger 
handed the latter the note. 

‘‘Just a note from the Sergeant of the Guard 
about an Orderly,'’ answered the clerk. 

“Let me see it," said the General, who had an 
inveterate disposition for looking into the smallest 
details. “What's this ? One of the 200th Ind. ? Why, 
that was in my brigade. The 200th Ind. was cut 
all to pieces, but it stuck to that Snodgrass Hill 
tighter than a real-estate mortgage. One of the 
boys in trouble? We'll just go over to the Provost- 
Marshal's and see about him. It may be that I 
know him." 

The sharp call of the Sergeant on duty outside to 
“Turn out the Guard for the General," the clatter 
of muskets, as he was obeyed, the sudden stiffening 
up of the men lounging about the entrance into the 
position of the soldier, and their respectful salutes 
as the General limped in, conveyed to Lieut.-Col. Bil- 


132 


SI KLEGG. 


lings intelligence as to his visitor, and his whole de- 
meanor changed to one of obsequious welcome. 

'‘Very unexpected, General, but very kind in you 
to visit me,'' he said, bowing, and washing his hands 
with invisible soap. 

“No kindness at all. Colonel," said the General 
with official curtness. “Merely my duty, to person- 
ally acquaint myself with all portions of my com- 
mand. I should have visited you before. By the 
way, I understand you have picked up here a man 
belonging to my brigade — to the 200th Ind. Where 
is he?" 

Billings's face clouded. 

“Yes, we have a man who claimed to belong to 
that regiment — a straggler, who hadn't any papers 
to show. I had no idea whether he was telling the 
truth. He was outrageously sassy, and I had to 
give him a lesson to keep a civil tongue in his head. 
Take a seat. I'll send for him." 

“No; I'll go and see him," said the General. 
“Where is he?" 

With a foreboding that the scene was going to be 
made unpleasant for him, Billings led the General 
into the guard-room. 

“Why, it's Shorty," said the General, recognizing 
him at once, “who ran back at Stone River, in a 
heavy fire, and helped me from under my horse." 

Shorty winked and nodded affirmatively. 

“What was the matter, Colonel?" inquired the 
General. 

“Well," said Billings, defensively, “the feller is a 
straggler, without papers to show where he be- 
longed, and he was very sassy to me — called me a 


SHORTY IN TROUBLE. 


133 


liar, and said other mean things, right before my 
men, and I had to order him bucked-and-gagged to 
shut him up.’' 

“Strange,” said General; “I always found him 
very respectful and obedient. I thought I hadn’t 
a better soldier in my brigade.” 

Shorty winked appreciatively at Serg’t Elkins. 

“Take out the gag, let him up, and let me hear 
what he has to say,” said the General. 

Shorty was undone and helped to his feet, when 
he respectfully saluted. His weakness was so ap- 
parent that the General ordered him to sit down, 
and then asked him questions which brought out his 
story. “You were promoted Corporal, if I recol- 
lect,” said he, “for gallantry in capturing one of the 
rebel flags taken by my brigade.’’ 

“Yes, sir,” answered Shorty. 

Billings was feeling very uncomfortable. 

“He called me a liar, and a stay-at-home sneak, 
and other insultin’ things,” protested he. 

“General, he slandered the 200 Ind., which I 
won’t allow no man to do, no matter what he has 
on his shoulders. I told him that he’d bin fired out 
o’ the regiment, and was a-bummin’ in the rear, 
and hadn’t no business abusin’ men who was doin’ 
and respectful.” 

“Hum — very insubordinate, very unsoldierly,” 
said the General. “Very unlike you. Corporal. I’m 
surprised at you. You were always very obedient 
and respectful.” 

“Always to real officers,” said Shorty; “but” 

“Silence,” said the General, sternly. “Don’t ag- 
gravate the offense. You were properly punished.” 


134 


SI KLEGG. 


“I ain’t kickin’ about it,” said Shorty stubbornly. 
“I’ve got the worth of it.” 

“I think,” continued the General, after having 
properly vindicated discipline, “that that blow you 
received on your head may affect your brain at 
times, and make you unduly irritable. I think I’ll 
have the Surgeon examine you. Put him in an am- 
bulance, Wilson, and take him over to the Surgeon. 
Then bring him to Headquarters with the report.” 

Turning to the Lieutenant-Colonel the General 
said : 

“I had another object in visiting you this morn- 
ing, Colonel. I’ve got some good news for you. I’ve 
found your officers and men very weary of their 
long tour of provost duty here, and anxious to go to 
the front. Of course, I know that you feel the same 
way.” 

Billings tried to look as if he did, but the attempt 
was not a success. 

“I have represented to Headquarters, therefore,” 
continued the General, “that it would be to the ad- 
vantage of the service to have this fine full regiment 
sent to the front, and its place taken by one that 
has been run down by hard service, and so get a 
chance for it to rest and recruit. The General has 
accepted my views, and orders me to have you get 
: eady to move at once.” 

“I have tried to do my dooty here, and I thought,” 
murmured Billings, “that it was to the advantage of 
the Government to have as Provost-Marshal a man 
who knowed all these fellers and their tricks. It’d 
take a new man a long time to learn ’em.” 

“I appreciate that,” said the General. But it’s not 


SHORTY IN TROUBLE. 135 

just to you or your men to make you do so much of 
this work. Fm expecting every minute notice of a 
regiment being sent to relieve yours, and therefore 
you will be ready to start as soon as it arrives. Good 
morning, sir.’’ 

The only relief that Billings could find to 
his feelings after the General’s departure was to 
kick one of the men’s dog out of his office with a 
great deal of vindictiveness. 


CHAPTER X. 


SHORTY AS ORDERLY — HAS A TOUR OF DUTY AT THE 

general's headquarters. 

U\\7 ELL/' said the General, after he had lis- 
W tened to Shorty’s story, and questioned 
him a little, “you are all right now. 
I’ll take care of you. The Surgeon says that you 
are not fit to go back to the front, and will not 
be for some time. They have got more sick and 
convalescents down there now than they can take 
good care of. The army’s gone into Winter quar- 
ters, and will probably stay there until Spring 
opens, so that they don’t need either of us. I’ll 
detail you as Orderly at these Headquarters, and 
you can go back with me when I do.” 

“I s’pose that’s all right and satisfactory,” said 
Shorty, saluting. “It’s got to be, anyway. In the 
army a man with a star on his shoulder’s got the 
last say, and kin move the previous question when- 
ever he wants to. I never had no hankerin’ for a 
job around Headquarters, and now that I’m a 
Korpril I ought to be with my company. But they 
need you worse’n they do me, and I’ve noticed that 
you was always as near the front as anybody, so I 
don’t think I’ll lose no chances by stayin’ with you.” 

“I promise you that we shall both go as soon as 
there’s any prospect of something worth going for,” 
said the General, smiling. “Report there to Wilson. 
He will instruct you as to your duties.” 


SHORTY AS ORDERLY. 


137 


Wilson’s first instructions were as to Shorty’s 
personal appearance. He must get a clean shave 
and a hair-cut, a necktie, box of paper collars, a 
pair of white gloves, have blouse neatly brushed 
and buttoned to his throat and his shoes polished. 

'‘Dress parade every day?” asked Shorty, de- 
spairingly. 

“Just the same as dress parade every day,” 
answered the Chief Clerk. “Don’t want any scare- 
crows around these Headquarters. We’re on dress 
parade all the time before the people and other 
soldiers, and must show them how soldiers ought 
to appear. You’ll find a barber-shop and a boot- 
black around the corner. Make for them at once, 
and get yourself in shape to represent Headquarters 
properly.” 

“Don’t know but I’d ruther go to the front and 
dig rifle-pits than to wear paper collars and white 
gloves every day in the week,” soliloquized Shorty, 
as he walked out on the street. “Don’t mind ’em 
on Sunday, when you kin take ’em off agin when 
the company’s dismissed from parade; but to put 
’em on in the mornin’ when you git up, and wear 
’em till you go to bed at night — 0, Jehosephat! 
Don’t think I’ve got the constitution to stand that 
sort o’ thing. But it’s orders, and I’ll do it, even 
if it gives me softenin’ o’ the brain. Here, you — 
(beckoning to a bootblack), put a 250-pounder 
Monitor coat o’ polish on them Tennessee River 
gunboats. Fall in promptly, now.” 

The little darky gave an estimating glance at the 
capacious cowhides, which had not had a touch of 
the brush since being drawn from the Quarter- 


138 


SI KLEGG. 


master, and then yelled to a companion on the other 
side of the street: 

'‘Hey, Taters, come lend me a spit. I’se got a’ 
army contrack.’' 

“Vhat golor off a gravat do you vant?’^ asked 
the Jewish vender of haberdashery, who was rap- 
idly amassing a fortune from the soldiers. “Dere's 
plack, red, kreen, plue — all lofely golors, unt de 
vinest kint off silk. Yoost de same as Cheneral 
Krant vears. He puys lods off me. Von’t puy off 
nopody else vhen he gan ket to me. Now, dere’s 
vun dat’ll yoost suit your light gomplexion. You 
gan year dat on St. Batrick’s day.'' 

And he picked out one of bright green that would 
have made Shorty's throat seem in wild revolt 
against his hair. 

“Well, I don't know," said Shorty meditatively, 
pulling over the lot. Then a thought struck him. 
Taking out the bit of Maria's dress, he said: 

“Give me something as near as possible the color 
of that." 

“Veil, I've kot rid off datt off-golored neg-die, dat 
I fought I nefer vould sell," meditated the Jew, as 
Shorty left. “I'm ahet yoost a tollar-unt-a-haluf 
on aggount off dat vild Irishman's kirl. Veil, de 
kirls ket some fellers into sgrapes, unt helps udders 
oud." 

With this philosophical observation the Jew re- 
sumed his pleasant work of marking up his prices 
to better accord with his enlarged views as to the 
profits he could get off the soldiers. 

Wh^'n Shorty returned to Headquarters, neatly 
shaven and brushed, and took the position of a sol- 


SHORTY AS ORDERLY. 


139 


dier before the Chief Clerk, that functionary re- 
marked approvingly: 

“Very good, very good, indeed. You'll be an 
ornament to Headquarters." 

And the General, entering the room at that time, 
added : 

“Yes, you are as fine a looking soldier as one 
would wish to see, and an example to others. But 
you have not your Corporal's chevrons on. Allow 
me to present you with a pair. It gives me pleas- 
ure, for you have well earned them." 

Stepping back into his office he returned with 
the chevrons in his hand. 

“There, find a tailor outside somewhere to sew 
them on. You are now a non-commissioned officer 
on my staff, and I expect you to do all you can to 
maintain its character and dignity." 

Shorty's face flushed with pride as he saluted, 
and thought, without saying: 

“You jest bet I will. Any loafer that don't pay 
proper respect to this here staff'll git his blamed 
neck broke." 

“Here," said the Chief Clerk, handing Shorty 
an official envelope, when the latter returned from 
having his chevrons sewed on. “Take this down to 
Col. Billings. Mind you do it in proper style. Don't 
get to sassing old Billings. Stick the envelope in 
your belt, walk into the office, take the position of 
a soldier, salute, and hand him the envelope, saying, 
‘With the compliments of the General,' salute again, 
about-face, and walk out." 

“I'll want to punch his rotten old head off the 
minute I set eyes on him," remarked Shorty, sotto 


140 


SI KLEGG. 


voce; ‘‘but the character and dignity of the staff 
must be maintained.” 

Lieut.-Col. Billings started, and his face flushed, 
when he saw Shorty stalk in, severely erect and 
soldierly. Billings was too little of a soldier to 
comprehend the situation. His first thought was 
that Shorty, having been taken under the General's 
wing, had come back to triumph over him, and he 
prepared himself with a volley of abuse to meet 
that of his visitor. But Shorty, with stern eyes 
straight to the front, marched up to him, saluted 
in one-two-three time, drew the envelope from his 
belt, and thrusting it at him as he would his gun to 
the inspecting officer on parade, announced in curtly 
official tones, “With General’s compliments, sir,” 
saluted again, about-faced as if touched With a 
spring, and marched stiffly toward the door. 

Billings hurriedly glanced at the papers, and saw 
that instead of some unpleasant order from the 
General, which he had feared, they were merely 
some routine matters. His bullying instinct at once 
reasserted itself : 

“Puttin’ on a lot o’ scollops since, just because 
you’re detailed at Headquarters,” he called out after 
Shorty. “More style than a blue-ribbon horse at a 
•county fair, just because the General took a little 
notice of you. But you’ll not last long. I know 
you.” 

“Sir,” said Shorty, facing about and stiffly sa- 
luting, “if you’ve got any message for the General, 
I’ll deliver it. If you hain’t, keep your head shet.” 

“0, go on; go on, now, you two-for-a-cent Cor- 
poral. Don’t you give me any more o’ your slack. 


SHORTY AS ORDERLY. 


141 



“WHAT DO YOU THINK OF THAT?’’ SAID THE GAMBLER. 



142 


SI KLEGG. 


or I’ll report you for your impudence, and have 
them stripes jerked offen you.” 

Hot words sprang to Shorty’s lips, but he remem- 
bered the General’s injunction about the character 
and dignity of the staff, and restrained himself to 
merely saying: 

‘‘Col. Billings, some day I won’t belong to the 
staff, and you won’t have no shoulder-straps. Then 
I’ll invite you to a little discussion, without no 
moderator in the chair.” 

“Go on, now. Don’t you dare threaten me,” 
shouted Billings. 

“How’d you get along with Billings?” inquired 
the Chief Clerk, when Shorty returned. 

“About as well as the monkey and the parrot 
did,” answered Shorty, and he described the inter- 
view, ending with: 

“I never saw a man who was achin’ for a good 
lickin’ like that old bluffer. And he’ll git it jest 
as soon as he’s out o’ the service, if I have to walk 
a hundred miles to give it to him.” 

“I’m afraid you’ll have to wait a good while,” 
answered Wilson. “He’ll stay in the service as long 
as he can keep a good soft berth like this. He’s now 
bombarding everybody that’s got any influence with 
telegrams to use it to keep him here in the public 
interest. He claims that on account of his famil- 
iarity with things here he is much more valuable to 
the Government here than he would be in the field.” 

“No doubt o’ that,” said Shorty. “He aint worth 
a groan in the infernal regions at the front. He 
only takes the place and eats the rations of some 
man that might be of value.” 


SHORTY AS ORDERLY. 


143 


‘'See here/' said Wilson, pointing to a pile of 
letters and telegrams on his desk. “These are pro- 
tests against Billings being superseded and sent 
away. More are coming in all the time. They are 
worrying the General like everything, for he wants 
to do the right thing. But I know that they all 
come from a ring of fellows around here who sell 
whisky and slop-shop goods to the soldiers, and 
skin them alive, and are protected by Billings. 
They're whacking up with him, and they want him 
to stay. I'm sure of it, but I haven't any proof, 
and there's no use saying anything to the General 
unless I've got the proof to back it." 

“Wonder if I couldn't help git the proof," sug- 
gested Shorty, with his sleuth instincts reviving. 

“Just the man," said the Chief Clerk eagerly, 
“if you go about it right. You're a stranger here, 
and scarcely anybody knows that you belong to 
Headquarters. Get yourself back in the shape you 
were this morning, and go out and try your luck. 
It'll just be bully if we can down this old blowhard." 

Shorty took off his belt and white gloves, un- 
buttoned his blouse, and lounged down the street 
to the quarter where the soldiers most congregated 
to be fleeced by the harpies gathered there as the 
best place to catch men going to or returning from 
the front. Shorty soon recognized running evil- 
looking shops, various kinds of games and drinking 
dens several men who had infested the camps about 
Nashville and Murfreesboro until the Provost- 
Marshal had driven them away. 

“Billings has gathered all his old friends about 


144 


SI KLEGG. 


him/' said he to himself. "‘I guess I'll find some- 
body here that I kin use." 

“Hello, Injianny; what are you doin' here?" in- 
quired a man in civilian clothes, but unmistakably a 
gambler. 

Shorty remembered him at once as the man with 
whom he had had the adventure with the loaded 
dice at Murfreesboro. With the fraternity of the 
class, neither remembered that little misadventure 
against the other. They had matched their wits 
for a wrestle, and when the grapple was over it 
was over. 

Shorty therefore replied pleasantly: 

“0, jest loafin' back here, gittin' well o' a crack 
on the head and the camp fever." 

“Into anything to put in the time?" 

“Naah," said Shorty weariedly. “Nearly dead 
for something. Awful stoopid layin' around up 
there among them hayseeds, doin' nothin'. Jest run 
down to Jeffersonville to see if I couldn't strike 
something that'd some life in it." 

“Well, I kin let you into a good thing. I've bin 
runnin' that shebang over there, with another man, 
and doin' well, but he let his temper git away with 
him, and slipped a knife into a sucker, and they've 
got him in jail, where he'll stay awhile. I must 
have another partner. Got any money?" 

“A hundred or so," answered Shorty. 

“Well, that's enough. I don't want money so 
much as the right kind of a man. Put up your 
stuff, and I'll let you in cahoots with me, and we'll 
make a bar'l o' money out o' these new troops that'll 
begin coming down this week." 


SHORTY AS ORDERLY. 


145 


‘‘I like the idee. But how do you know you kin 
run your game. This Provost-Marshar' 

'‘O, the Provost’s all right. He’s an old friend 
o’ mine. I have him dead to rights. Only whack 
up fair with him, and you’re all right. Only pinches 
them that want to hog on him and won’t share. 
I’ve bin runnin’ right along here for weeks, and 
’ve had no trouble. I give up my little divvy when- 
ever he asks for it.” 

“If I was only certain o’ that,” said Shorty medi- 
tatively, “I’d” 

“Certain? Come right over here to that ranch, 
and have a drink, and I’ll show you, so’s you can’t 
be mistaken. I tell you. I’m solid as a rock with 
him.” 

When seated at a quiet table, with their glasses 
in front of them, the gambler pulled some papers 
from his breast pocket, and selecting one shoved it 
at Shorty with the inquiry: “There, what do you 
think o’ that?” 

Shorty read over laboriously: 

“Deer Bat : Send me 50 please. I set behind two 
small pair last night, while the other feller had a 
full, & Ime strapt this morning. Yores, 

“Billings.” 

“That seems convincing,” said Shorty. 

“Then look at this,” said the gambler, producing 
another paper. It read: 

“Deer Bat: Got yore $100 all right, but doant 
send by that man again. He’s shaky, and talks too 
much. Bring it yourself, or put it in an envelope 
directed to me, & drop it in my box. Yores, 

“Billings.” 


146 


SI KLEGG. 


‘‘That's enough," said Shorty, with his mind in 
a tumult, as to how he was to get these papers into 
his possession. “Fll go in with you, if you'll take 
me. . Here's my fist." 

He reached out and shook hands with Bat 
Meacham over the bargain, and called to the waiter, 
“Here, fill 'em up agin." 

Shorty pulled some papers out of his pocket to 
search for his money, and fumbled them over. 
There were two pieces among them resembling the 
scraps on which Billings had written his notes. 
They contained some army doggerel which the poet 
of Co. Q had written and Shorty was carrying 
about as literary treasures. 

The waiter wiped off the table as he replaced 
the glasses, and Shorty lifted up the gambler's 
papers to permit him to do so. He laid down his 
own papers instead, and with them a $10 bill. 

“There," he said; “I find that's all the money I 
have with me, but it's enough to bind the bargain. 
I left a couple hundred with the clerk at the tavern. 
I'll go right up and git it, and we'll settle the thing 
right here." 

“Very good," replied Bat Meacham ; “git back as 
quick as you kin. You’ll find me either here or 
bangin' around near. Let’s fix the thing up and 
git ready. I think a new regiment’ll be down here 
tomorrow, and all the men’ll have their first install- 
ment o' bounty and a month’s pay." 

Shorty hurried back to Headquarters and laid his 
precious papers before the Chief Clerk, who could 
not contain his exultation. 

“Won’t there be a tornado when the General sees 


SHORTY AS ORDERLY. 


147 


these in the morning/' he exclaimed. “He's gone 
out to camp, now, or I'd take them right to him. 
But he shall have them first thing in the morning." 

The next morning Shorty waited with eager im- 
patience while the General was closeted with his 
Chief Clerk. Presently the General stepped to the 
door and said sternly: 

“Corporal." 

“Yes, sir," said Shorty, springing to his feet and 
saluting. 

“Go down at once to the Provost-Marshal's office 
and tell Col. Billings to come to Headquarters at 
once. To come at once, without a moment's delay." 

“Yes, sir," said Shorty saluting, with a furtive 
wink at the Chief Clerk, which said as plainly as 
words, “No presenting compliments this time." 

He found Billings, all unconscious of the impend- 
ing storm, dealing out wrath on those who were 
hauled before him. 

“Col. Billings," said Shorty, standing stiff as a 
ramrod and curtly saluting, “the General wants you 
to come to Headquarters at once." 

“Very well," replied Billings ; “report to the Gen- 
eral that I'll come as soon as I dispose of this 
business." 

“That'll not do,'’ said Shorty with stern imperi- 
ousness. “The General orders (with a gloating 
emphasis on 'orders') you to drop everything else, 
and come instantly. You're to go right back 
with me." 

Shorty enjoyed the manifest consternation in 
Billings's face as he heard this summons. The men 
of the office pricked up their ears, and looked mean- 


148 


SI KLEGG. 


ingly at one another. Shorty saw it all, and stood 
as straight and stern as if about to lead Billings 
to execution. 

Billings, with scowling face, picked up his hat, 
buttoned his coat, and walked out. 

“Do you know what the General wants with me. 
Shorty?” he asked in a conciliatory way, when they 
were alone together on the sidewalk. 

“My name's Corporal Elliott. You will address 
me as such,” answered Shorty. 

“Go to the devil,” said Billings. 

Billings tried to assume a cheerfully-genial air 
as he entered the General's office, but the grin faded 
at the sight of the General's stern countenance. 

“Col. Billings,” said the General, handing him 
the two pieces' of paper, “do you recognize these?” 

“Can't say that I do,” answered Billings, pretend- 
ing to examine them while he could recover his wits 
sufficiently for a line of defense. 

“Don't attempt to lie to me,” said the General 
wrathfully, “or I'll forget myself sufficiently to tear 
the straps from your disgraced shoulders. I have 
compared these with other specimens of your hand- 
writing, until I have no doubt. I have sent for 
you not to hear your defense, or to listen to any 
words from you. I want you to merely sit down 
there and sign this resignation, and then get out of 
my office as quickly as you can. I don't want to 
breathe the same air with you. I ought to court- 
martial you, and set you to hard work on the forti- 
fications, but I hate the scandal. I have already 
telegraphed to Army Headquarters to accept your 
resignation by wire, and I shall send it by telegraph. 


SHORTY AS ORDERLY. 


149 


I cannot get you out of the army too quickly. Sign 
this, and leave my office, and take off your person 
every sign of your connection with the army. I 
shall give orders that if you appear on the street 
with so much as a military button on, it shall be 
torn off you.^^ 

As the crushed Lieutenant-Colonel was leaving 
the office. Shorty lounged up, and said: 

‘"See here. Mister Billings — you’re Mister Billings 
now, and a mighty ornery Mister, too. I’m going to 
lay for you, and settle several little p’ints with you. 
You’ve bin breedin’ a busted head, and I’m detailed 
to give it to you. Git out, you hound.” 


CHAPTER XL 


SHORTY RUNS HEADQUARTERS — GETS ENTIRELY TOO 
BIG FOR HIS PLACE. 

T he disturbance in the Deacon’s family when 
Shorty’s note was delivered by little Sammy 
Woggles quite came up to that romance- 
loving youth’s fond anticipations. If he could only 
hope that his own disappearance would create a 
fraction of the sensation he would have run away 
the next day. It would be such a glorious retribu- 
tion on those who subjected him to the daily tyranny 
of rising early in the morning, washing his face, 
combing his hair, and going to school. For the 
first time in his life the boy found himself the center 
of interest in the family. He knew something that 
all the rest were intensely eager to know, and they 
plied him with questions until his young brain 
whirled. He told them all that he knew, except that 
which Shorty had enjoined upon him not to tell, 
and repeated his story without variation when sepa- 
rately examined by different members of the family. 
All his leisure for the next few days was put in 
laboriously constructing, on large sheets of foolscap, 
the following letter, in which the thumb-marks and 
blots were more conspicuous than the ‘^pot-hook” 
letters : 

dEER shoRty: 

doNt 4git thAt REblE guN u promist mE. 
thAir wAs An oRful time wheN i giv um yorE 
lEttEr. 


SHORTY RUNS HEADQUARTERS. 


151 


missis klEgg shE cride. 

mAriAr shE sEd did u EvEr No Ennything so 
Ridiklus. 

si hE sed thAt shorty kood be morE Kinds ov 
fool in A minnit thAn Ary uthEr boy hE Ever node, 
Not bArrin Tompsons colt. 

thE deAcon hE wAntid 2 go 2 the tranE & stop 
u. When hE found hE kooddEnt do that, hE 
wAntid 2 tElEgrAf .2 Arrest u & bring u bAk. 

But si hE sEd bEttEr let u run till u got tirEd. 
Ude fEtch up sum whAir soon. Then thEy wood 
slip a bridlE ovEr yore hEAd & brink u bAk. 

i hAint told mAriA nothin but u hAd bEtEr sEnd 
thAt gun rite oif. 

ile look 4 it EvEry dAy til i git it. 

mi pen iz bAd, mi ink iz pAle, 
send thAt gun & NEVEr fALE. 

YorEs, SAM. 

As soon as he saw that he was likely to remain 
at Headquarters for some time. Shorty became 
anxious about that letter from Sammy, and after 
much scheming and planning, he at last bethought 
himself of the expedient of having the Chief Clerk 
write an official letter to Sam Elkins, the postmaster 
and operator at Bean Blossom Creek Station, direct- 
ing him to forward to Headquarters any communi- 
cations addressed to Corp’l Elliott, 200th Ind. Vols., 
and keep this matter a military secret. 

In spite of his prepossessions against it. Shorty 
took naturally to Headquarters duty, as he did to 
everything else in the army. He even took a pride 
in his personal appearance, and appeared every 


152 


SI KLEGG. 


morning as spick and span as the barber-shop 
around the corner could make him. This was be- 
cause the General saw and approved it, and — be- 
cause of the influence Maria had projected into his 
life. The Deacon’s well-ordered home had been a 
revelation to him of another world, of which he 
wanted to be a part. The gentle quiet and the" 
constant consideration for others that reigned there 
smoothed off his rough corners and checked the 
rasping of his ready tongue. 

‘T’m goin’ to try to be half-white,” he mentally 
resolved; “at least, as long’s I’m north o’ the Ohio 
River. When I’m back agin at the front, I kin 
take a rest from being respectable.” 

He was alert, prompt, and observant, and before 
he was himself aware of it began running things 
about the ante-rooms to Headquarters. More and» 
more the General and Chief Clerk kept putting the 
entire disposal of certain matters in his hands, and 
it was not surprising that he acted at times as if 
he were the Headquarters himself, and the General 
and others merely attaches. Shorty always had 
that way about him. 

“No, you can’t see the General today,” he would 
say to a man as to whom he had heard the General 
or the Chief Clerk hint was a bore, and wasted their 
time. “The General’s very busy. The President’s 
layin’ down on him for his advice about a campaign 
to take Richmond by a new way, and the General’s 
got to think at the rate of a mile a minute in order 
to git it off by telegraph.” 

“Here,” to a couple of soldiers who came up to 
get their furloughs extended, “don’t you know bet- 


SHORTY RUNS HEADQUARTERS. 


153 


ter than to come to Headquarters looking as if your 
clothes had been bio wed on to you? How longVe 
you bin in the army? Hain't you learned yit that 
you must come to Headquarters in full dress? Go 
back and git your shoes blacked, put on collars, 
button up your coats, and come up here lookin' like 
soldiers, not teamsters on the Tullyhomy mud 
march." 

“No," very decisively, to a big-waisted, dark- 
bearded man ; “you can’t git no permit here to open 
no shebang in camp or anywheres near. Too many 
like you out there now. We’re goin’ to root ’em all 
out soon. They’re all sellin’ whisky 'on the sly, and 
every last one of ’em orter be in jail." 

“Certainly, madam," tenderly to a poor woman 
who had come to see if she could learn something 
of her son, last heard from as sick in hospital at 
Chattanooga. “Sit down. Take that chair — no, 
that one ; it’s more comfortable. Give me your son’s 
name and regiment. I’ll see if we kin find out any- 
thing about him. No use seein’ the General. I’ll 
do jest as well, and ’ll tend to it quicker." 

“No," to a raw Captain, who strolled in, smoking 
a cheap cheroot. “The General’s not in to an officer 
who comes in here like as if Headquarters was a 
ward caucus. He’ll be in to you when you put on 
your sword and button up your coat." 

It amused and pleased the General to see Shorty 
take into his hands the administration of military 
etiquet; but one day, when he was accompanying 
the General on a tour of inspection, and walking 
stiffly at the regulation distance behind, a soldier 


154 


SI KLEGG. 


drunk enough to be ugly lurched past, muttering 
some sneers about “big shoulder-straps.” 

Shorty instantly snatched him by the collar and 
straightened him up. 

“Take the position of a soldier,” he commanded. 

The astonished man tried to obey. 

“Throw your chest out,” commanded Shorty, 
punching him in the ribs. “Little fingers down to 
the seams of your pants,” with a cuff at his 
ears. “Put your heels together, and turn out your 
toes,” kicking him on the shin. “Hold up your 
head,” jabbing him under the chin. “'Now respect- 
fully salute.” 

The cowed man clumsily obeyed. 

“Now, take that to learn you how to behave after 
this in the presence of a General officer,” concluded 
Shorty, giving him a blow in the face that sent 
him over. 

The General had walked on, apparently without 
seeing what was going on. But after they had 
passed out of the sight of the group which the affair 
had gathered, he turned and said to Shorty: 

“Corporal, discipline must be enforced in the 
army, but don’t you think you were a little too 
summary and condign with that man?” 

“Hardly know what you mean by summary and 
condign, General. But if you mean warm by sum- 
mary, ril say that he didn’t git it half hot enough. 
If I’d had my strength back I’d a’ condigned his 
head off. But he got his lesson jest when he needed 
it, and he’ll be condigned sure to behave decently 
hereafter.” 

Just then ex-Lieut.-Col. Billings came by. He was 


SHORTY RUNS HEADQUARTERS. 155 



don't you know better than to come to 

HEADQUARTERS LIKE THAT?" 


156 


SI KLEGG. 


dressed in citizen’s clothes, and he glared at Shorty 
and the General, but there was something in the 
latter’s face and carriage which dominated him in 
spite of himself, his camp associations asserted 
themselves, and instinctively his hand went to his 
hat in a salute. 

This was enough excuse for Shorty. He fell back 
until the General was around the corner, out of 
sight, and then went up to Billings. 

“Mister Billings,” said he, sternly, “what was the 
General’s orders about wearin’ anythirig military?” 

“Outrageously tyrannical and despotic,” answered 
Billings hotly. “But jest what you might expect 
from these Abolition satraps, who’re throttlin’ our 
liberties. A white man’s no longer got any rights 
in this country that these military upstarts is bound 
to respect. But I’m obeyin’ the order till I kin git 
an appeal from it.” 

“You’re a liar. You’re not,” said Shorty, sav- 
agely. 

“Why, what in the world have I got on that’s 
military?” asked Billings, looking himself over. 

“You’re wearin’ a military saloot, which you have 
no business to. You’ve got no right to show that 
you ever was in the army, or so much as seen a 
regiment. You salooted the General jest now. 
Don’t you ever let me see you do it to him agin, or 
to no other officer. You musn’t do nothin’ but take 
off your hat and bow. You hear me?” 

Shorty was rubbing it in on his old tormentor in 
hopes to provoke him to a fight. But the cowed 
man was too fearful of publicity just then. He did 


SHORTY RUNS HEADQUARTERS. 


157 


not know what might be held in reserve to spring 
upon him. He shambled away, muttering: 

“O, go on! Grind down upon me. You’ll be 
wantin’ to send me to a Lincoln bastile next. But 
a day will come when white men’ll have their rights 
agin.” 

Unfortunately for Shorty, however, he was having 
things too much his own way. There were com- 
plaints that he was acting as if he owned Head- 
quarters. 

Even the General noticed it, and would occasion- 
ally say in tones of gentle remonstrance : 

“See here. Corporal, you are carrying too big a 
load. Leave something for the rest of us to do. 
We are getting bigger pay than you are, and should 
have a chance to earn our money.” 

But Shorty would not take the hint. With his 
rapidly-returning strength there had come what Si 
termed “one of his bull-headed spells,” which in- 
evitably led to a cataclysm, unless it could be worked 
off legitimately, as it usually was at the front by 
a toilsome march, a tour of hard fatigue duty, or a 
battle or skirmish. But the routine of Headquar- 
ters duties left him too much chance to get “fat 
and sassy.” 

One day the General and his staff had to go over 
to Louisville to attend some great military function, 
and Shorty was left alone in charge of Headquar- 
ters. There was nothing for him to do but hold a 
chair down, and keep anybody from carrying off the 
Headquarters. This was a dangerous condition, in his 
frame of mind. He began meditating how he could 
put in the idle hours until the General should return 


158 


SI KLEGG. 


in the evening. He thought of hunting up Billings, 
and giving him that promised thrashing, but his 
recent experience did not promise hopefully that 
he could nag that worthy into a fight that would be 
sufficiently interesting. 

*Td probably hit him a welt and he’d go off 
bawlin’ like a calf,” he communed with himself. 
“No; Billings is too tame, now, until he finds out 
whether we’ve got anything on him to send him 
to the penitentiary, where he orter go.” 

Looking across the street he noticed Eph Glick, 
whom he had known as a camp-follower down in 
Tennessee, and was now running a “place” in the 
unsavory part of the town. Shorty had the poorest 
opinion of Eph, but the latter was a cunning rascal, 
who kept on the windy side of the law, and had so 
far managed to escape the active notice of the 
Provost-Marshal. He was now accompanied by a 
couple of men in brand-new uniforms, so fresh that 
they still had the folds of the Quartermaster’s boxes. 

“There goes that unhung rascal, Eph Glick,” he 
said to himself, “that orter be wearin’ a striped 
suit, and breakin’ stone in the penitentiary. He’s 
runnin’ a reg’lar dead-fall down the street, there, 
and he’s got a couple o’ green recruits in tow, 
steerin’ them to where he kin rob ’em of their pay 
and bounty. They won’t have a cent left in two 
hours. I’ve bin achin’ to bust him up for a long 
time, but I’ve never bin able to git the p’ints on 
him that’d satisfy the General or the Provo. I’ll 
jest go down and clean out his shebang and run him 
out o’ town, and finish the job up while the General 
and the Provo’s over in Louisville, It’ll all be 


SHORTY RUNS HEADQUARTERS. 


159 


cleaned up before they git back, and they needn’t 
know a word of it. Eph’s got no friends around 
here to complain. He’s a yaller hound, that nobody 
cares what’s done to him. It’ll be good riddance o’ 
bad rubbish.” 

He stalked out of the Headquarters, and beckoned 
imperiously to a squad that he saw coming down 
the street under the command of a Sergeant. Seeing 
him come out of Headquarters there was no ques- 
tion of his right to order, and the Sergeant and 
squad followed. 

They arrived in front of Eph’s place about the 
same time he did. 

“Take that man,” said Shorty, pointing to Eph, 
“and put him aboard the next train that goes out. 
Think yourself lucky, sir, that you git off so easily. 
If you ever show your face back here agin you’ll 
be put at hard labor on the fortifications for the 
rest o’ your natural life. Hustle him off to the 
depot, a couple of you, and see that he goes off when 
the train does. The rest o’ you bring out all the 
liquor in that place, and pour it into the gutter. 
Sergeant, see that nobody’s allowed to drink or carry 
any away.” 

Nothing more was needed for the crowd that had 
followed up the squad, anticipating a raid. Bottles, 
demijohns and kegs were smashed, the cigars and 
tobacco snatched up, and the place thoroughly 
wrecked in a few minutes. 

Shorty contemplated the ruin from across the 
street, and strolled back to Headquarters, serenely 
conscious of having put in a part of the day to good 
advantage. 


160 


SI KLEGG. 


That evening the Provost-Marshal came into 
Headquarters, and said: 

'T’m sorry, General, that you felt that Glick place 
so bad that you were compelled to take personal 
action. I have known for some time that something 
ought to be done, but I’ve been trying to collect 
evidence that would hold Glick on a criminal charge, 
so that I could turn him over to the civil author- 
ities.” 

‘T do not understand what you mean. Colonel,” 
answered the General. 

“I mean that Glick place that was raided by your 
orders today.” 

'T gave no orders to raid any place. I have left 
all those matters in your hands. Colonel, with entire 
confidence that you would do the right thing.” 

‘‘Why, one of my Sergeants reported that a Cor- 
poral came from your Headquarters, and directed 
the raid to be made.” 

“A Corporal from my Headquarters?” repeated 
the General, beginning to understand. “That’s an- 
other development of that irrepressible Shorty.” 
And he called: 

“Corp’l Elliott.” 

“Yes, sir,” responded Shorty, appearing at the 
door and saluting. 

“Did you raid the establishment of a person 
named” 

“Eph Glick,” supplied the Provost-Marshal. 

“Yes, Ephraim Glick. Did you direct it; and, if 
so, what authority had you for doing so?” 

“Yes, sir,” said Shorty promptly. “I done it on 
my own motion. It was a little matter that needed 


SHORTY RUNS HEADQUARTERS. 


161 


tending to, and I didn’t think it worth while to 
trouble either you or the Provo about it. The feller’s 
bin dead-ripe for killin’ a long time. I hadn’t 
nothin’ else to do, so I thought I’d jest git that job 
offen my hands, and not to have to think about it 
any more.” 

'‘Corporal,” said the General sternly, “I have not 
objected to your running my office, for I probably 
need all the help in brains and activity that I can 
get. But I must draw the line at your assuming 
the duties of the Provost-Marshal in addition. He 
is quite capable of taking care of his own office. 
You have too much talent for this narrow sphere. 
Gen. Thomas needs you to help him run the army. 
Tell Wilson to make out your transportation, so that 
you can start for your regiment tomorrow. The 
Provost-Marshal and I will have to try to run this 
town without your help. It will be hard work, I 
know; but, then, that is what we came into the 
service for.” 

Shorty grumbled to another Orderly as he re- 
turned to his place in the next room: 

"There, you see all the thanks you git for bein’ 
a hustler in the way of doin’ your do.oty. I done a 
job for ’em that they should’ve ’tended to long ago, 
and now they sit down on me for it.” 


CHAPTER XIL 


SHORTY ON A HUNT — GOES AFTER KNIGHTS OF THE 
GOLDEN CIRCLE. 

T hat evening, as Shorty was gathering his 
things together, preparatory for starting to 
the front the next morning, Lieut. Bigelow, 
one of the General’s young Aids, thrust his head 
through the doorway and said gleefully: 

“Here, Corporal; I want you. I’ve got a great 
lark. Our Secret Service people report a bad lodge 
of the Knights of the Golden Circle out here in the 
country that threatens to make trouble. It is made 
up of local scalawags and runaway rebels from 
Kentucky and Tennessee. They have a regular 
lodge-room in a log house out in the woods, which 
they have fixed up into a regular fort, and they 
hold their meetings at nights, with pickets thrown 
out, and no end of secrecy and mystery. The Gen- 
eral thinks that they are some of the old counter- 
feiting, horse-stealing gang that infested the coun- 
try, and are up to their old tricks. But it may be 
that they are planning wrecking a train, burning 
bridges and the like. They’ve got so bold that the 
Sheriff and civil officials are afraid of them, and 
don’t dare go near them. I’ve persuaded the Gen- 
eral to let me take out a squad and jump them. 
Want to go along?” 

“I’m your huckleberry,” said Shorty. 

“I knew you’d be,” answered the Lieutenant; “so 


SHORTY ON A HUNT. 


163 


I got the General to let me have you. We’ll get 
some 10 or 12 other good boys. That will be enough. 
I understand that there are about 100 regular at- 
tendants at the lodge, but they’ll not all be there 
at any time, and a dozen of us can easily handle 
what we find there at home.” 

“A dozen’ll be a great plenty,” assented Shorty. 
“More’d be in the way.” 

'‘Well, go out and pick up that many of the right 
kind of boys, bring them here, and have them all 
ready by 10 o’clock. You can find guns and am- 
munition for them in that room upstairs.” 

Shorty’s first thought was of his old friend. Bob 
Ramsey, Sergeant of the Provost-Guard. He found 
him, and said: 

“See here. Bob, I’ve got something on hand 
better’n roundin’ up stragglers and squelchin’ 
whisky rows. I’ve got to pick out some men for a 
little raid, where there’ll be a chance for a red-hot 
shindy. Want to go along?” 

“You bet,” answered the Sergeant. “How many 
men do you want? I’ll get ’em and go right along.” 

“No, you don’t,” answered Shorty. “I’m to be 
the non-commish of this crowd. A Lieutenant’ll go 
along for style, but I’ll run the thing.” 

“But you’re only a Corporal, while I’m a Ser- 
geant,” protested Bob. “ ’Taint natural that you 
should go ahead of me. Why can’t you and I run 
it tbgether, you next to me? That’s the correct 
thing.” 

“Well, then,” said Shorty, turning away, “you 
stay and run your old Provo-Guard. This is my 
show, and I aint goin’ to let nobody in it ahead 
o' me/' 


164 


SI KLEGG. 


'‘Come, now, be reasonable,” pleaded Bob. “Why 
can’t you and I go along together and run the thing? 
We’ll pull together all right. You know I’ve been 
a Sergeant for a long time, and know all about the 
handling of men.” 

“Well, stay here and handle ’em. I’ll handle the 
men that I take, all right. You kin gamble on that. 
And what I say to them has to go. Won’t have 
nobody along that outranks me.” 

“Well,” answered Bob, with a gulp, “let me go 
along, then, as a Corporal — I’ll change my blouse 
and borrow a Corporal’s” 

“Rankin’ after me?” inquired Shorty. 

“Yes; we had a Corporal promoted day before 
yesterday. I’ll borrow his blouse.” 

“Promoted day before yesterday,” communed 
Shorty; “and you won’t presume to boss or com- 
mand no more’n he would?” 

“Not a mite,” asserted Bob. 

“Well, then, you kin come along, and I’ll be 
mighty glad to have you, for I know you’re a stand- 
up feller and a good friend o’ mine, and I always 
want to oblige a friend by lettin’ him have a share 
in any good fight I have on hand.” 

Jeff Wilson, the Chief Clerk, got wind of the 
expedition, and he too begged to be taken along, 
to which Shorty consented. 

When Lieut. Bigelow came in at 10 o’clock he 
found Shorty at the head of 12 good men, all armed 
and equipped, and eager for the service. 

“In talking with the Secret Service men,” ex- 
plained the Lieutenant, “they suggested that it 
would be well to have one good man, a stranger. 


SHORTY ON A HUNT. 


165 


dressed in citizen’s clothes — butternut jeans, if pos- 
sible — to go ahead at times and reconnoiter. He 
ought to be able to play off refugee rebel, if pos- 
sible.” 

“Fll do it. I’m just the man,” said Shorty 
eagerly. 

‘Well, just come in here,” said the Lieutenant. 
“Now, there’s a lot of butternut jeans. I guess 
there’s a pair of pantaloons long enough for you.” 

When Shorty emerged from the room again there 
was a complete transformation. Except that his 
hair was cut close, he was a perfect reproduction 
of the tall, gaunt, slouching Tennesseean. 

“Perfect/' said the Lieutenant, handing him a 
couple of heavy Remington revolvers. “Stow these 
somewhere about your clothes, and get that blacking 
off your shoes as soon as you can, and you’ll do.” 

It was planned that they should sleep until near 
morning, when the spies of the Knights of the 
Golden Circle were not alert, enter a freight-car, 
which they would keep tightly shut, to escape ob- 
servation, while the train ran all day toward a 
point within easy reach of their quarry. It would 
arrive there after dark, and so they hoped to catch 
the Knights entirely unawares, and in the full bloom 
of their audacity and pride. 

The car which the squad entered was locked and 
sealed, and labeled, “Perishable freight. Do not 
delay.” Their presence was kept secret from all 
the train hands but the conductor, a man of known 
loyalty and discretion. 

Shorty being in disguise, it was decided that he 
should saunter down apart from the rest and take 


166 


SI KLEGG. 


his place in the caboose. He lay down on the long 
seat, drew his slouch-hat over his eyes, and seemed 
to go to sleep. The train pulled out to the edge of 
the yard, went onto a switch and waited for the 
early morning accommodation to pass out and get 
the right-of-way. 

A heavily-built, middle-aged man, whose coarse 
face had evidently been closely shaved a few days 
before, entered, carrying a large carpet-sack, which 
was well-filled and seemingly quite heavy. He set 
this carefully down on the seat, in the corner, walked 
up to the stove, warmed his hands, glanced sharply 
at Shorty, said “Good morning,'' to which Shorty 
replied with a snore, took a plug of tobacco from 
his pocket, from which he cut a liberal chew with 
a long dirk that he opened by giving a skillful flip 
with his wrist, put the chew in his mouth, released 
the spring which held the blade in place, put both 
knife and tobacco in his pocket, and turning around 
spread the tails of his seedy black frock coat, and 
seemed lost in meditation as he warmed. 

“Not a farmer, storekeeper or stock-buyer," 
Shorty mentally sized him up. “Looks more like a 
hickory lawyer, herb-doctor or tin-horn gambler. 
What's he doin' in this caboose? Up to some devil- 
ment, no doubt. He'll bear watchin'." 

And Shorty gave another snore. The man, hav- 
ing completed his warming, sat down by his carpet- 
sack, laid his arm across it to secure possession, 
pulled his battered silk hat down over his eyes, and 
tried to go to sleep. 

The train rumbled out, and presently stopped at 
another station. Another man got on, also carry- 


SHORTY ON A HUNT. 


167 


ing a large, heavy carpet-sack. He was younger 
than the other, looked like a farm-hand, was dressed 
partly in homespun, partly in “store-clothes,’' wore 
a weather-stained wool hat, and his sullen face 
terminated in a goatee. The first-comer looked him 
over an instant, and then said: 

“Were you out late last night?” 

“I was,” replied the second-comer, scanning his 
interrogator. 

“Did you see a star?” 

“I did.” 

“What star was it?” 

“It was the Star of Bethlehem.” 

“Right, my brother,” responded the other, putting 
out his hand in a peculiar way for the grip of the 
order. 

Shorty, still feigning deep sleep, pricked up his 
ears and drank in every word. He had heard before 
of the greeting formula by which Knights of the 
Golden Circle recognized one another, and he tried, 
with only partial success, to see the grip. 

He saw the two men whisper together and tap 
their carpet-sacks significantly. They seemed to 
come to a familiar understanding at once, but they 
talked so low that Shorty could not catch their 
words, except once when the first-comer raised his 
voice to penetrate the din as they crossed a bridge, 
and did not lower it quickly enough after passing, 
and Shorty heard: 

“They’ll all be certain to be there tonight.” 

And the other asked: “And the raid’ll be made 
ter-morrer?” 

The first-comer replied with a nod. At the next 


168 


SI KLEGG. 


bridge the same thing occurred, and Shorty caught 
the words: 

''They’ve no idee. We’ll ketch ’em clean often 
their guard.” 

"And the others’ll come out?” asked the second- 
comer. 

"Certainly,” said the first, lowering his voice 
again, but the look on his face and the way he 
pointed indicated to Shorty that he was saying that 
other lodges scattered through the neighborhood 
were only waiting the striking of the first blow to 
rise in force and march on Indianapolis, release the 
rebel prisoners there and carry havoc generally. 

"I see through it all,” Shorty communed with him- 
self. "They’re goin’ to the same place that we are, 
and’ve got them carpet-bags filled with revolvers 
and cartridges. Somebody’s goin’ to have a little 
surprise party before he’s a day older.” 

The sun had now gotten so high that Shorty could 
hardly pretend to sleep longer. He gave a tre- 
mendous yawn and sat up. The older man regarded 
him attentively, the other sullenly. 

"You must’ve bin out late last night, stranger,” 
said the first. 

"I was,” answered Shorty, giving him a meaning 
look. 

"Did you see a star?” inquired the older man. 

"I did,” answered Shorty. 

"What star was it?” 

"The Star of Bethlehem,” answered Shorty boldly. 

"'You’re right, my brother,” said the man, put- 
ting out his hand for the grip. Shorty did the 
same, trying to imitate what he had seen. The car 


SHORTY ON A HUNT. 


169 



‘‘how do you like the looks of that, 

OLD BUTTERNUT?” 


170 


SI KLEGG. 


was lurching, and the grasp was imperfect. The 
man seemed only half satisfied. Shorty saw this, 
and with his customary impudence determined to 
put the onus of recognition on the other side. He 
drew his hand back as if disappointed, and turned 
a severe look upon the other man. 

‘Where are you from?’’ asked the first-comer. 

Shorty curtly indicated the other side of the Ohio 
by a nod. 

“Where are you goin’?” 

Shorty’s face put on a severe look, as if his ques- 
tioner was too inquisitive. “Jest up here to Tend 
to some bizness,” he answered briefly, and turned 
away as if to close the conversation. 

“Say, I’ve got a right to know something about 
you,” said the first new-comer. “I’m Captain of 
this District, and have general charge o’ things here, 
and men passin’ through.” 

“All right,” answered Shorty. “Have general 
charge. I don’t know you, and I have bizness with 
men who roost a good deal higher’n you do.” 

He put his hands to his breast, as if assuring 
himself of the presence of important papers, and 
pulled out a little ways the official-looking envelope 
which contained his transportation and passes. 

This had its effect. The “Captain” weakened. 

“Are you from the Southern army?” he asked in 
. a tone of respect. 

“Before I answer any o’ your questions,” said 
Shorty authoritatively, “prove to me who you are.” 

“0, I kin do that quick enough,” said the “Cap- 
tain” eagerly, displaying on his vest the silver star, 
which was the badge of his rank, and his floridly- 


SHORTY ON A HUNT. 


171 


printed commission and a badly-thumb-marked copy 
of the ritual of the Knights of the Golden Circle. 

“So far, so good,'' said Shorty. “Now give me 
the grip." 

Shorty, by watching the motions of the other's 
hand, was skillful enough to catch on to the grip 
this time, and get it exactly. He expressed himself 
satisfied, and as the car lay on the siding waiting 
for another train to arrive and pass he favored his 
two companions with one of his finest fictions about 
his home in Tennessee, his service in the rebel army, 
the number of Yankee Abolitionists he had slain 
with his own hand, and his present mission with 
important communications to those “friends of the 
South in Illinois" who were organizing a movement 
to stop the bloody and brutal war upon his beloved 
Southland. 

His volubility excited that of the “Captain," who 
related how he had been doing a prosperous business 
running a bar on a Lower Mississippi River boat, 
until Abolition fanaticism brought on the war; that 
he had then started a “grocery" in Jeffersonville, 
which the Provost-Marshal had wickedly suppressed, 
and now he was joining with others of his oppressed 
and patriotic fellow-citizens to stop the cruel and un- 
natural struggle against their brethren of the South. 

“And we shall do it," he said warmly, bringing 
out the savage-looking dirk, throwing it open with 
a deft movement of his wrist, and shaving off a 
huge chew of tobacco. “We have a hundred thou- 
sand drilled and armed men here in the State of 
Injianny, jest waitin' the word, to throw off the 
shackles of tyranny and destroy the tyrants. 


172 


SI KLEGG. 


There's another hundred thousand in Illinois and 
like numbers in other States. And they'll fight, too. 
They'll fight to the death, and every one of them 
is good for at least three of the usurper Lincoln's 
minions. I'd like nothing better than to get a good 
opportunity at three or four o' 'em, armed with 
nothin' more'n this knife. I'd like nothin' better 
than the chance to sock it into their black hearts. 
'Twouldn't be the first time, nuther. The catfish 
around Jeffersonville could tell some stories if they 
could talk, about the Lincoln hounds I've fed to 'em. 
I only want a good chance at 'em agin. I may go, 
but I'll take several of 'em with me. I'll die in my 
tracks afore I'll stand this any longer. I hate every- 
thing that wears blue worse'n I do a mad-dog." 

'^And I promise you," said Shorty solemnly, “that 
you shall have all the chance you want sooner'n 
you think for. I know a great deal more'n I dare 
tell you now, but things is workin' to a head mighty 
fast, and you'll hear something drop before the next 
change o' the moon. You kin jest bet your shirt 
on that." 

The day was passing, and as the evening ap- 
proached the train was running through a wilder, 
heavily-wooded country. Shorty's companions took 
their seats on the opposite side of the car and peered 
anxiously out of the window to recognize features of 
the darkening landscape. They were evidently get- 
ting near their destination. 

Shorty overheard the “Captain" say to his 
partner : 

“The train’ll stop for water in the middle of a big 


SHORTY ON A HUNT. 


173 


beech woods. We'll get off there and take a path 
that leads right to the lodge." 

“How far’ll we have to tote these heavy carpet- 
bags?" grumbled the other. 

Shorty slipped his hand into his pocket, grasped 
his revolvers and eased them around so that he 
could be certain to draw them when he wanted to. 
He was determined that those men should not leave 
the train before the stopping place arranged for his 
fellow-soldiers. He felt confident of being able to 
handle the two, but did not know how many con- 
federates might be in waiting for them. 

“I'll go it if there's a million of 'em," said he to 
himself. “I'll save these two fellers anyway, if 
there's any good in 45-caliber bullets in their car- 
casses. I'm jest achin' to put a half-ounce o' lead 
jest where that old scoundrel hatches his devilment." 

The engine whistled long and shrilly. 

“That's the pumpin'-station," said the “Captain," 
rising and laying hold of the handles of the carpet- 
bag. 

“Drop that. You can't leave this car till I give 
the word," said Shorty, rising as the train stopped, 
and putting himself in the door. 

.“Can't, eh?" said the “Captain," with a look of 
rage as he comprehended the situation. His dirk 
came out and opened with a wicked snap. “I'll cut 
your black heart out, you infernal spy." 

“You will, eh?" sneered Shorty, covering him with 
a heavy Remington. “How'd you like the looks o' 
that, old butternut? Your murderin' dirk aint 
deuce high. Move a step, and you'll know how it 
feels to have daylight through you." 


174 


SI KLEGG. 


The “Captain” smashed the window with a back- 
ward blow of his fist, thrust his head out and yelled 
the rallying-cry of the Knights: 

“Asa! Asa!” 

The sound of rushing feet was heard, and a man 
armed with a shot-gun came into the plane of light 
from the open caboose door. Shorty was on the 
lookout for him, and as he appeared, shouted: 

“Halt, there! Drop that gun. If you move I’ll 
kill this whelp here and then you.” 

“Do as he says, Stallins,” groaned the frightened 
“Captain.” “He’s got the drop on me. Drop your 
gun, but holler to the boys in the front car to 
come out.” 

To Shorty’s amazement a score of men came rush- 
ing back from the car next ahead of the caboose. 
They had, by a preconcerted arrangement, been 
jumping on the train ever since it grew dark, and 
collected in that car. Some of them had guns, but 
the most appeared unarmed. 

“Well, I have stirred up a yaller- jacket’s nest for 
sure,” thought Shorty, rather tickled at the odds 
which were arrayed against him. “But I believe 
I kin handle ’em until either the train pulls out 
or the boys hear the ruction and come to my help.” 

Then he called out sternly as he raised the re- 
volver in his left hand: 

“I’ll shoot the first man that attempts to come on 
this car, and I’ll kill your Captain, that I’ve got 
covered, dead. You man with that shot-gun, p’int 
it straight up in the air or I’ll drop you in your 
tracks. Now fire off both barrels.” 

It seemed to every man in the gang that Shorty’s 


SHORTY ON A HUNT. 


175 


left-hand revolver was pointing straight at him. 
The man with the shot-gun was more than certain 
of this, and he at once complied with the order. 

There was a whistle, followed by a rush of men 
from a line further out, and -every man of those 
around Shorty was either knocked down or rudely 
punched with a musket-barrel in the hands of Lieut. 
Bigelow's squad. 

'‘What in the world made you so long cornin'?” 
asked Shorty, after all the prisoners had been se- 
cured. “Was you asleep?'' 

“No,” answered the Lieutenant. “This is the 
place where we intended to get off. We were quietly 
getting out so as to attract no notice when you 
started your circus. I saw you were doing well, hiv- 
ing those fellows together, so I let you go ahead, 
while I slipped the boys around to gather them all 
in. Pretty neat job for a starter, wasn't it?” 


CHAPTER XIII. 


AN UNEXPECTED MEETING — BREAKING UP A DEN OF 
COPPERHEADS. 

OME, hustle these prisoners back into the 
car in which we were,” commanded the 
Lieutenant. “We’ll leave it on the switch 
with a guard. Lock it up carefully, and one man’ll 
be enough to guard it until we get back. Make 
haste, for we’ve no time to lose. Shorty” 

“Corpril Elliott,” Shorty corrected him, mindful 
of the presence of Sergeant Bob Ramsey. 

“Yes; excuse me. Corporal Elliott, while we are 
attending to the prisoners you go on ahead and 
reconnoiter. You need not stop unless you see fit 
until you are clear into the lodge. Give one low 
whistle if you want us to stop, two to come ahead 
and three to go back.” 

It was a moonless night, and the broom-like tops 
of the close-growing beeches made a dense dark- 
ness, into which Shorty plunged, but he could readily 
make out a well-beaten path, which he followed. 
Occasionally he could make out dark figures moving 
just ahead of him or crossing the path. 

“Coin’ to be a full attendance at the services this 
evenin’,” he muttered to himself. “But the more 
the merrier. It’ll insure a goodly number at the 
mourner’s bench when we make the call for the 
unconverted.” 

Big and lumbering as Shorty sometimes seemed in 


AN UNEXPECTED MEETING. 


177 


his careless hours, no wildcat gliding through the 
brush was more noiseless-footed than he now. He 
kept on the darker side of the path, but not a twig 
seemed to crack or a leaf rustle under his heavy 
brogans. Twice he heard lumbering steps in his 
rear, and he slipped behind the big trunk of a tree, 
and saw the men pass almost within arm^s length, 
but without a suspicion of his presence. 

‘‘Well, for men workin’ a dark-lantern job this is 
about the logiest crowd I ever struck,” he said rather 
disgustedly. “An elephant’d have to step on ’em 
before they’d know he was around. They ain’t 
hardly good fun.” 

Presently he heard some rustling over to his right 
and caught the low murmur of a voice. He cau- 
tiously made his way in that direction until he made 
an opening, with a number of men sitting on a log, 
while others were standing, leaning on their guns. 

“Probably a caucus outside to set up the pins 
before goin’ into the full meetin’,” he said to him- 
self. “As I always like to be with the winnin’ side, 
I guess I’ll jest jine ’em.” 

He advanced boldly into the opening. At the 
sound of his approach the men looked up, and one 
of those leaning on his gun picked it up and came 
toward him. 

“You are out late,” he whispered, when within 
speaking distance. 

“Yes,” answered Shorty. “And I was out late 
last night.” 

“Did you see a star?” 

H did.” 

“What star was it?” 


178 


SI KLEGG. 


‘‘It was the Star of Bethlehem.” 

The first speaker had seemed to start at the sound 
of Shorty’s voice, but he recovered himself, and 
saying, “You’re right, my brother,” put out his hand 
for the grip. 

“ ’Taint right, neither,” hissed Shorty. “Si Klegg, 
what are you doin’ here?” 

“Shorty!” ejaculated Si, joyfully, but still in a 
whisper. “I thought I knowed your voice. Where 
in the world did you come from?” 

“I’m here on business,” answere Shorty. “I came 
up from Headquarters at Jeffersonville. What 
brung you here?” 

“0,” said Si, “we’ve bin bearin’ about this Cop- 
perhead lodge for some time, and some of us boys 
who’s home on furlough thought that we’d come 
down here with the Deputy Provo and bust it up. 
We’ve bin plannin’ it a week or two. All these that 
you see there are soldiers. I’ve 15, includin’ 
myself.” 

The boys hastily conferred together as to the plan 
of operations, and one man was hurried back to 
inform Lieut. Bigelow of the presence of the other 
squad. 

“You seem to know most about this affair, 
Shorty,” said Si. “You take command and make 
arrangements.” 

“Not for a minute. Si,” protested Shorty. “You 
rank me and you must command, and I want you to 
hold your own over Bob Ramsey, who will try to 
rank you. Bob’s a good boy, but he’s rather too 
much stuck on his stripes.” 

It was finally arranged that Si should move his 


AN UNEXPECTED MEETING. 


179 


squad out to near the edge of the path and wait 
for Lieut. Bigelow to come up, while Shorty should 
go forward and reconnoiter. 

Shorty walked along the path toward the lodge. 
Suddenly the large figure of a man loomed up before 
him, standing motionless, on guard, in the road. 

“You are out late, my friend,” said he. 

“Yes,” answered Shorty. 

“Did you see a star?” 

“Yes.” 

“What was it?” 

“The Star of Bethlehem.” 

“You are right, my brother,” said the man, ex- 
tending his hand for the grip. 

“This rotten star-and-brother rigmarole^s making 
me sick,” muttered Shorty, with a hasty glance to 
see that the man was alone, and grasping his hand 
with a grip of iron, while with his left he clutched 
the sentry^s throat. Before the man could utter a 
groan he wrenched him around and started him 
back for Si. Arriving there he flung him under the 
trees, saying in a loud whisper : 

“First sucker o’ this Spring’s run. String him. 
Si.” 

Lieut. Bigelow had come up in the meanwhile with 
the other squad, and they all moved cautiously for- 
ward to where they could get a dim sight of the 
lodge through the intervals between the trees. For 
a log house it was quite a large building, and stood 
in the center of a small clearing which had been 
made to furnish logs for its erection. Faint gleams 
of light came through the badly-chinked walls, and 


180 


SI KLEGG. 


the hum of voices showed that there was a large 
crowd gathered inside. 

‘'There’s likely to be from 100 to 150 in there,” 
said the Lieutenant, after a moment’s consideration. 
“We’ve got 27 or 28. We’ll jump them, . though, if 
they’re a thousand. Corporal Elliott, you go for- 
ward and make your way inside, if you can, and see 
what they are doing. If you can get inside, stay 
10 or 15 minutes, and come out and report. If you 
can’t get out, or you think they are ripe for jump- 
ing, whistle, and we’ll pile in. Sergeant Klegg, you 
hold your squad together and move down as near 
the door as you can without being seen and be ready 
for a rush. Find a rail or a log to smash the door 
in if they try to hold it against us. Sergeant Ram- 
sey, deploy your men quietly around to the rear 
there to cut off retreat, but be ready to rally again 
and help Sergeant Klegg out if he strikes a big snag. 
You make the circuit of the house and post yourself 
where you can see what’s going on, and signal your 
men. Everybody keep under the shadow of the 
trees and make no noise. Go on to the house. 
Corporal.” 

Shorty left the cover of the trees and walked 
directly toward the front door. No one appeared 
or halted him until he pushed the front door open. 
Then a man who seemed more intent on what was 
going on inside than the new arrival, bent his head 
over to catch the farrago about the star, and put 
out his hand for fhe grip. 

“Come on in, but don’t make a noise,” he whis- 
pered. “They’re givin’ the obligation, and I want 
to hear it.” 


AN UNEXPECTED MEETING. 


181 


Shorty stood beside him for a moment, and then 
watched his opportunity, and pressed by him, to 
where he could see into the room. It was entirely 
dark except for the light of a single candle, shaded 
so that its rays fell upon a rude altar in the center 
of the room, draped with a rebel flag. Upon this 
lay a naked sword, skull and cross-bones. Behind 
the altar stood a masked man, draped in a long 
shroud, who was mouthing in a sepulchral tone the 
obligation to several men kneeling in front of the 
altar. The dim light faintly revealed other masked 
and shrouded flgures stationed at various places 
about the room and looming above the seated 
audience. 

“You solemnly swear,'' droned the chief actor, 
“to resist to the death every attempt to place the 
nigger above the white man and destroy the Gov- 
ernment of our fathers." 

“We do," responded those kneeling at the altar. 

“Let is be so recorded," said a sepulchral voice 
from the other extremity of the room. A gong 
sounded dismally and a glare of lurid red light fllled 
the room. 

“Regler Sons o' Malty biziniss, like I seen in St. 
Looyey," commented Shorty to himself. “Masks, 
shrouds, red Are and gong, all the same. But 
where've I heard that croakin' voice before?" 

“You solemnly promise and swear," resumed the 
sepulchral tones of the chief actor, “to do all in 
your power to restore the Constitution and laws 
of this country to what were established by the 
fathers and resist the efforts of nigger-loving Abo- 
litionists and evil-minded fanatics to subvert them." 


1B2 


SI KLEGG. 


"'We do/’ responded the kneeling men. 

Again the grewsome gong sounded, the red fire 
glared forth and the hollow voice announced that it 
was so recorded. 

‘‘I’ll bet six bits to a picayune,” said Shorty to 
himself, “that I know the rooster who’s doin’ them 
high priest antics. Where’d I hear his voice 
before?” 

“And, finally, brethren,” resumed the chief actor, 
“do you solemnly promise and swear to cheerfully 
obey all orders given you by officers regularly ap- 
pointed over you according to the rules and regula- 
tions of this great order and military discipline?” 

There was a little hesitation about this, but the 
kneeling ones were nudged and whispered to, and 
finally responded: 

“We do.” 

Again it was funereally announced to the accom- 
paniment of flashes of red fire and the gong that it 
was duly recorded. 

“Great Jehosephat, if it ain’t old Billings himself 
that’s doin’ that heavy tragedy act,” said Shorty, 
slapping himself on the thigh. “The old dregs o’ 
the bottomless pit! Is there any deviltry that he 
won’t git into?” 

His decision was confirmed a minute or two later, 
when, after some more fanfarronade the initiation 
ended, the officers removed their masks and shrouds, 
and the candles in the sconces around the room were 
relighted. Billings took his seat on the platform at 
the end of the room farthest' from the door, picked 
up the gavel and rapped for order. 

“Now, brethren,” said he, “having witnessed the 


AN UNEXPECTED MEETING. 


183 


solemn initiation of several brave, true men into 
our rapidly-swelling ranks and welcomed them as 
real patriots who have united with us to resist to 
the bitter end the cruel tyrannies of the Abolition 
despot at Washington — the vulgar railsplitter of 
the Sangamon, who is filling this once happy land 
with the graves of his victims, we will proceed to 
the regular business for which we have assembled. 
I regret that our gallant Captain has not yet ar- 
rived with the supply of arms and ammunition that 
he went to Jeffersonville to secure. I thought I 
heard the whistle of the train some time ago, and 
have been expecting him every minute. He may be 
here yet.’^ 

“Not if that guard at the switch ’tends to his little 
business, he won’t,” Shorty chuckled to himself. 

“When he gets here,” continued Billings, “we 
shall have enough weapons to finish our outfit, and 
give every member, including them initiated tonight, 
a good, serviceable arm, as effective as any in the 
hands of our enemies. We shall then be in shape 
to carry out the several projects which we have be- 
fore discussed and planned. We shall be ready to 
strike at any moment. When we do strike success 
is sure. The Southern armies, which have so long 
bravely battled for the Constitution and the laws 
and white men’s rights, are again advancing from 
every point. Every mail brings me glad good news 
of the organization of our brave friends throughout 
this State and Illinois. They’re impatient to begin. 
The first shot fired will be the signal for an uprising 
that’ll sweep over the land like a prairie fire 
and” 


184 


SI KLEGG. 


He stopped abruptly, contracted his brows, and 
gazed fixedly at Shorty. 

“Brother Walker,” said Billings, “there’s a tall 
man settin’ close by the door that I seem to’ve seen 
before, and yit I don’t exactly recognize. Please 
hold that candle nigh his face till I can see it more 
plainly.” 

Shorty happened to be looking at another man 
that minute, and did not at first catch the drift of 
Billings’s remarks. When he did, he hesitated an 
instant whether to whistle or try to get out. Before 
he could decide, Eph Click, whom he had raided at 
Jeffersonville, struck him a heavy blow on the side 
of his head and yelled : 

“He’s a traitor! He’s a spy! Kill the infernal, 
egg-suckin’ hound!” 

There was a rush of infuriated men, which car- 
ried Shorty over and made him the object of a storm 
of blows and kicks. So many piled on him at once 
that they struck and kicked one another in their 
confusion. The door was torn out, and its pieces 
fell with the tumble of cursing, striking, kicking 
men that rolled outside. 

Si rushed forward with his squad, and in an in- 
stant they were knocking right and left with their 
gun-barrels. So many fell on top of Shorty that 
he was unable to rise and extricate himself. 

Not exactly comprehending what was going on, 
but thinking that the time for them to act had come, 
the four boys to whom Si had given the duty of 
making the rush with the log to break down the 
door, came bolting up, shouting to their comrades: 

“Open out, there, for us.” 


AN UNEXPECTED MEETING. 


185 



'THE PRISONERS HAD TOO MUCH SOLICITUDE ABOUT 
THEIR GARMENTS TO THINK OF ANYTHING ELSE.” 


186 


SI KLEGG. 


Their battering-ram cleaned off the rest of those 
still pommeling Shorty, and drove back those who 
were swarming in the door. 

Shorty sprang up and gave a rib-breaking kick to 
the prostrate Eph Glick. 

The crowd inside at first recoiled at the sight of 
the soldiers, but, frightened for his own safety, 
Billings shouted, as he sheltered himself behind the 
altar : 

“Don’t give way, men. There’s only a few o’ 
them. Draw your revolvers and shoot down the 
scum. Drive ’em away.” 

A score of shots were fired in obedience, but Si, 
making his voice ring above the noise, called out : 

“Stop that firing, or I’ll kill every man in the 
house. If there’s another shot fired we’ll open on 
you and keep it up till you’re every one dead. Sur- 
render at once !” 

“Go at ’em with the bayonet. Si,” yelled Shorty. 
“I’m goin’ around to ketch old Billings. He’s in 
there, and’ll try to sneak out the back way.” 

As Shorty ran around the corner he came face-to- 
face with a stalwart Irishman, one of the pluckiest 
of the squad brought from Jeffersonville. His face 
was drawn and white with fright, and he fumbled 
at his beads. 

“0, Corpril,” he said, with chattering teeth, “Oi’ve 
jist sane the very divil himself, so Oi have. Oi 
started to run up t’ the house v/hin the ruction 
begun, when suddintly the ground opened up at me 
very fate, an’ out kim a ghost, tin fate hoigh, wid 
oyes av foire, and brathing flames, an’ he shtarted 
for me, an’ oi” 


AN UNEXPECTED MEETING. 


187 


‘'What damned nonsense is this, O’Brien?’' asked 
Shorty angrily. “Are you drunk, or jest naturally 
addled? Come along with me and we’ll” 

“Not for a thousand loives,” groaned the Irish- 
man. “Howly saints, fwhat is old Clootie after me 
for? Is it for atin’ that little taste o’ ham last 
Friday? Holy Mary, save me; there he is again!” 

“Where, you flannel-mouthed Mick?” asked Shorty 
savagely. “Where do you see the devil?” 

“There! There! That white thing. Don’t you 
say it yersilf?” groaned the Irishman, dropping on 
his knees, and calling on all the saints. 

“That white thing. That’s only a sycamore 
stump, you superstitious bog-trotter,” said Shorty, 
with angry contempt, as he bent his eyes on the 
white object. Then he added in the next breath: 

“But blamed if that stump ain’t wr, Ikin’ off. 
Funny stump.” 

He gave a leap forward for closer investigation. 
At the crash of his footsteps the stump actually 
turned around and gave a sepulchral groan. Then, 
seeing that it was not a soldier pursuing, a very 
natural human voice proceeded from it. 

“Is that you. Brother Welch? I thought at first 
it was a soldier. I motioned you when the trouble 
first begun to follow me through the underground 
passage. There was enough others there to make 
the fight, and it’d never do for us to be taken by 
the Lincolnites. We’re too valuable to the cause 
just now, and, then, if the Lincolnites get hold of 
me they’ll certainly make me a martyr. Come right 
over this way. We kin strike a path near here 
that’ll take us right out/’ 


188 


SI KLEGG. 


“Great Jehosephat/' said Shorty, “if it ain’t old 
Billings, masqueradin’ in his Sons o’ Malty rig.” 

He made another leap or two, clapped his hand on 
Billings’s shoulder, and shoved the muzzle of his 
revolver against the mask and demanded: 

“Halt and surrender, you barrel-headed, splay-f 
footed son of a sardine. Come along with me, or 
I’ll blow that whole earthquake rig offen you.” 

Shorty marched his prisoner back to the house, 
and as he neared it saw by the light of a fire 
O’Brien, who had apparently recovered from his 
fright, for he was having a lively bout with a large 
young fellow who was trying to make his escape. 
It seemed an even thing for a minute or two, but 
the Irishman finally downed his antagonist by a 
heavy blow with his massive fist. 

“Here, O’Brien,” said Shorty, “I’ve ketched your 
devil and brung him back to you. When a boss 
shies at anything the best way’s to lead him square 
up to it and let him smell it. So I want you to 
take charge o’ this prisoner and hold him safe till 
the scrimmage is over.” 

O’Brien looked at the figure with rage and disgust. 
He gave Billings a savage clout vrith his open hand, 
saying : 

“Ye imp o’ the divil — ^ye unblest scab of an 
odmahoun. Oi’ll brake ivery bone av yer body for 
goin’ around by noights in thim wake-duds, scaring 
daysint folks out av their siven sinses.” 

The fighting had been quite a severe tussle for 
the soldiers. There had not been much shooting, 
but a great deal of clubbing with gun-barrels and 
sticks, which left a good many bloody heads and 


AN UNEXPECTED MEETING. 


189 


aching arms and shoulders. About half of those 
in the meeting had succeeded in getting away, but 
this still left some 75 prisoners in the hands of 
Lieut. Bigelow, and he was delighted with his 
success. 

It was decided to hold all the prisoners in the 
lodge until morning, and two of the boys who had 
gotten pretty badly banged about the head were sent 
back to the railroad to relieve and assist the guard 
left there. 

'‘I find about 10 or 15 birds in the flock,'’ said the 
Deputy Provost, who was also Deputy Sheriff, when 
they looked over the prisoners in the morning, "‘that 
we have warrants and complaints for, for everything 
from plain assault and battery to horse-stealing. 
It would save the military much trouble and serve 
the ends of justice better if we could send them over 
to the County seat and put them in jail, where the 
civil authorities could get a whack at them. I’d go 
there myself if I could walk, but this bullet in my 
shin disables me.” 

"‘I’d like to do it,” answered Lieut. Bigelow, “but 
I haven’t the guard to spare. So many of my men 
got disabled that I won’t have more than enough to 
guard the cars on the way back and keep these 
whelps from jumping the train or being rescued by 
their friends when we stop at the stations. The 
news of this affair is all over the country by this 
time, and their friends will all be out.” 

“How fur is it to the County seat?” asked Shorty. 

“About 15 miles,” answered the Deputy Provost. 

“Me and Si Klegg’ll march ’em over there, and 


190 


SI KLEGG. 


obligate ourselves not to lose a rooster of ’em/’ 
said Shorty. 

“That’ll be a pretty big contract,” said the Lieu- 
tenant doubtfully. 

“All right. We’re big enough for it. We’ll take 
every one of ’em in if we have to haul some of ’em 
feet foremost in a wagon.” 

“It’ll be a great help in many ways,” considered 
Lieut. Bigelow. “The crowd’ll be looking for us 
at the stations and not think of these others. Those 
are two very solid men, and will do just what they 
promise. I think I’ll let them try it. It would be 
well for you to tell those men that any monkey busi- 
ness with them will be unhealthy. They’d better 
trust to getting away from the grand jury than 
from them.” 

But as the Deputy Provost went over them more 
carefully he found more that were “wanted” by the 
civil authorities, and presently had selected 25 very 
evil-looking fellows, whose arrest would have been 
justified on general appearances. 

“Haint we bit off more’n’we kin chaw,. Shorty?” 
asked Si, as he looked over the increasing gang. 
“Hadn’t we better ask for some help?” 

“Not a bit of it,” answered Shorty, confidently. 
“That’ll look like weakenin’ to the Lieutenant and 
the Provo. We kin manage this gang, or we’ll leave 
’em dead in the brush.” 

“All right,” assented Si, who had as little taste 
as his partner for seeming to weaken. “Here goes 
for a fight or a foot-race.” 

While the Deputy was making out a list of the 
men and writing a note to the Sheriff, Shorty went 


AN UNEXPECTED MEETING. 


191 


through the gang and searched each man for arms. 
Then he took out his knife and carefully cut the 
suspender buttons from every one of their pant- 
aloons. 

“Now weVe got ’em, Si,” he said gleefully, as he 
returned to his partner’s side, with his hand full of 
buttons. “They’ll have to use both hands to hold 
their britches on, so they kin neither run nor fight. 
They’ll be as peaceable as lambs.” 

“Shorty,” said Si, in tones of fervent admiration, 
“I wuz afeared that crack you got on your head 
softened your brains. But now I see it made you 
brighter’n ever. You’ll be wearin’ a General’s stars 
before this war is over.” 

“Bob Ramsey was a-blowin’ about knowin’ how 
to handle men,” answered Shorty. “I’m just goin’ 
to bring him over here and show him this trick that 
he never dreamed of.” 

After he had gloated over Sergeant Ramsey, 
Shorty got his men into the road ready to start. 
Si placed himself in front of the squad and de- 
liberately loaded his musket in their sight. Shorty 
took his place in the rear, and gave out: 

“Now, you roosters, you see I’ve two revolvers, 
and I’m a dead shot with either hand. I’m good for 
12 of you at the first jump and my partner kin ’tend 
to the rest. Now, if I see a man so much as make 
a motion toward the side o’ the road I’ll drop him. 
Give the command. Sergeant Klegg.” 

“Forward — march !” ordered Si. 

It was as Shorty predicted. The prisoners had 
entirely too much solicitude about their garments to 
think of anything else, and the march was made 


192 


SI KLEGG. 


without incident. Late in the afternoon they 
reached the County seat, and marched directly for 
the public square, in which the jail was situated. 
There were a few people on the streets, who gath- 
ered on the sidewalks to watch the queer procession. 
Shorty, with both hands on his revolvers, had his 
eyes fixed on the squad, apprehensive of an attempt 
to bolt and mix with the crowd. He looked neither 
to the right nor the left, but was conscious that they 
were passing a corner on which stood some ladies. 
Then he heard a voice which set his heart to throb- 
bing call out : 

“Hello, Si Klegg! Si Klegg! Look this way. 
Where'd you come from?'' 

“Great Jehosephat ! Maria !" said Shorty to him- 
self. But he dared not take his eyes a moment from 
the squad to look toward her. 


CHAPTER XIV. 


GUARDING THE KNIGHTS — SI AND SHORTY STAND OFF 
A MOB AT THE JAIL. 

H aving seen their prisoners safely behind the 
bars, Si and Shorty breathed more freely 
than they had since starting out in the 
morning, and Si remarked, as he folded up the 
receipt for them and placed it in his pocket-book : 

‘That drove’s safely marketed, without the loss of 
a runaway or a played-out. Purty good job o’ 
drovin’, that. Pap couldn’t do better’n that with 
his hogs. I’m hungrier’n a wolf. So must you be, 
Shorty. Le’s hunt up Maria, and she’ll take us 
where we kin git a square meal. Then we kin talk. 
I’ve got a hundred questions I want to ask you, but 
ain’t goin’ to do it on an empty gizzard. Come on.” 

Shorty had dropped on to a bench, and fixed his 
eyes on the stone wall opposite, as. if desperately 
striving to read there some hint of extrication from 
his perplexities. The thought of encountering 
Maria’s bright eyes, and seeing there even more 
than her sharp tongue would express, numbed his 
heart. 

■ “Yit, how kin I git away from Si, now?” he mur- 
mured to himself. “And yit I’m so dead hungry 
to see her again that I’d be willin’ to be a’most 
skinned alive to do it. Was ever anybody else so 
big a fool about a girl? I’ve plagued other fellers, 
and now I’ve got it worse’n anybody else. It’s a 


194 


SI KLEGG. 


judgment on me. But, then, nobody else ever seen 
such a girl as that. There’s some sense in bein’ a 
fool about her.” 

'‘Come on. Shorty,” called Si from the door. 
“What are you dreamin’ on? Are you too tired to 
move? Come on. We’ll have a good wash, that’ll 
take away some of the tiredness, then a big dinner, 
and a good bed tonight. Tomorrer mornin’ we’ll 
be as good as new.” 

“I think I’d better git right on the next train and 
go back to Jeffersonville,” murmuerd Shorty, faintly 
struggling with himself. “They may need me 
there.” 

“Nonsense!” answered Si. “We’ve done enough 
for one day. I’ve bin up for two nights now, and 
am goin’ to have a rest. Let some o’ the other 
fellers have a show for their money. We haint got 
to fight this whole war all by ourselves.” 

“No, Si,” said Shorty, summoning all his resolu- 
tion; “I’m goin’ back on the next train. I must 
git back to the company. They’ll” 

“You’ll do nothin’ o’ the kind,” said Si impatiently. 
“What’s eatin’ you? What’d you skip out from our 
house for? What’d you mean” 

He was broken in upon by Maria’s voice as she 
came in at the head of a bevy of other girls: 

“Si Klegg, aint you ever cornin’ out? What’s a- 
keepin’ you? We’re tired waitin’ for you, and ’re 
cornin’ right in. What’re you doin’ to them raga- 
muffins that you’ve bin gatherin’ up? Tryin’ to 
patch ’em up into decent-lookin’ men? Think it’ll 
be like mendin’ a brush-fence — makin? bad worse. 
Where on earth did you gather up sich a gang o’ 


GUARDING THE KNIGHTS. 


195 


scare-crows? I wouldn’t waste my days and nights 
pickin’ up sich runts as them. When I go man- 
huntin’ I’ll gether something that’s worth while.” 

Every bright sally of Maria was punctuated with 
shrieks of laughter from the girls accompanying her. 
Led by her, they swarmed into the dull, bare room, 
filling it with the brightness of their youthful pres- 
ence, their laughter, and their chirruping comments 
on everything they saw. The jail was a place of 
deep mystery to them, and it was a daring lark for 
them to venture in even to the outside rooms. 

‘The girls dared me to bring ’em in,” Maria 
explained to Si, “and I never won’t take no dare 
from anyone. Si, ain’t you goin’ to kiss your sister? 
You don’t act a bit glad to see me. Now, if it was 
Annabel” 

“Why, Maria,” said Si, kissing her to stop her 
mouth, “I wasn’t expectin’ to see you. What in the 
world are you doin’ over here?” 

“Why, your Cousin Marthy, here, is goin’ to be 
married Thursday to her beau, who’s got 10 days’ 
leave to come home for that purpose. The thing’s 
bin hurried up, because he got afeared. He heard 
that Marthy was flyin’ around to singin’ school and 
sociables with some other fellers that’s home on 
furlough. So he just brung things to a head, and 
I rushed over here to help Marthy git ready, and 
stand by her in the tryin’ hour. Why, here’s Mr. 
Corporil Elliott, that I hain’t spoken to yit. Well, 
Mr. Skip-and-away, how d’ you do? Girls, come up 
here and see a man who thought mother’s cookin’ 
was not good enough for him. He got homesick 
for army rations, and run off without so much as 


196 


SI KLEGG. 


sayin' good-by, to git somethin' to eat that he’d 
really enjoy.” 

Her merry laugh filled the room, and rang even 
into the dark cells inside. Shorty shambled to his 
feet, pulled off his hat, and stood with downcast 
eyes and burning face. He had never encountered 
anything so beautiful and so terrifying. 

Maria was certainly fair to look upon. A buxom, 
rosy-cheeked lass, something above the average 
hight of girls, and showing the Klegg blood in her 
broad chest and heavy, full curves. She was dressed 
in the hollyhock fashion of country girls of those 
days, with an exuberance of bright colors, but which 
Shorty thought the hight of refined fashion. He 
actually trembled at what the next words would be 
from those full, red lips, that never seemed to open 
except in raillery and mocking. 

“Well, ain’t you goin’ to shake hands with me? 
What are you mad about?” 

“Mad? Me mad? What in the world’ve I to be 
mad about?” thought Shorty, as he changed his hat 
to his left hand, and put forth shamedly a huge 
paw, garnished with red hair and the dust of the 
march. It seemed so unfit to be touched by her 
white, plump hand. She gave him a hearty grasp, 
which reassured him a little, for there was nothing 
in it, at least, of the derision which seemed to ring 
in every note of her voice and laughter. 

“Girls,” she called, “come up and be introduced. 
This is Mr. Corpril Elliott, Si’s best friend and 
partner. I call him Mr. Fly-by-night, because he 
got his dander up about something or nothin’, and 
skipped out one night without so much’s sayin’ ” 


GUARDING THE KNIGHTS. 


197 


''0, Maria, come off. Cheese it. Dry up,'' said 
Si impatiently. ‘‘Take us somewhere where we kin 
git somethin' to eat. Your tongue's hung in the 
middle, and when you start to talkin' you forgit 
everything else. I'm hungrier'n a bear, and so's 
Shorty." 

An impulse of anger flamed up in Shorty's heart. 
How dared Si speak that way to such a peerless 
creature? How could he talk to her as if she were 
some ordinary girl? 

“0, of course, you're hungry," Maria answered. 
“Never knowed you when you wasn't. You're 
worse'n a Shanghai chicken — eat all day and be 
hungry at night. But I expect you are really' 
hungry this time. Come on. We'll go right up to 
Cousin Marthy's. I sent word that you was in 
town, and they're gittin' ready for you. I seen a 
dray-load o' provisions start up that way. Come 
on, girls. Cousin Marthy, bein's you're engaged 
and Si's engaged, you kin walk with him. The rest 
o' you fall in behind, and I'll bring up the rear, as 
Si'd say, with Mr. Fly-by-night, and hold on to him 
so that he sha'n't skip again." 

“Me run away," thought Shorty, as they walked 
along. “Hosses couldn't drag me away. I only 
hope that house is 10 miles off." 

Unfortunately for his cause he could not say nor 
hint any such a thing, but walked along in dogged 
silence. The sky was overcast and cheerless, and a 
chill wind blew, but Shorty never knew such a 
radiant hour. 

“Well, why don't you say something? What's be- 
come o' your tongue?" began Maria banteringly. 


SI KLEGG. 


lys 

“Have you bit it off, or did some girl, that you bolted 
off in such a hurry to see, drain you so dry o’ talk 
that you haint got a word left? Who is she? What 
does she look like ? What made you in sich a dread- 
ful hurry to see her? You didn’t go clear up to 
Bad Ax, did you, and kill that old widower?” 

“Maria,” called out Si, “if you don’t stop plaguin’ 
Shorty I’ll come back there and wring your neck. 
You kin make the worst nuisance o’ yourself o’ any 
girl that ever lived. Here, you go up there and 
walk with Cousin Marthy. I’ll walk with Shorty. 
I’ve got something I want to say to him.” 

With that he crowded in between Maria and 
Shorty and gave his sister a shove to send her for- 
ward. Shorty flared up at the interference. Acute 
as his suffering was under Maria’s tongue, he would 
rather endure it than not have her with him. Any- 
how, it was a matter between him and her, with 
which Si had no business. 

“You oughtn’t to jaw your sister that way. Si,” 
he remonstrated energetically. “I think it’s shame- 
ful. I wouldn’t talk that way to any woman, 
especially sich a one as your sister.” 

“Whose sister is she, anyway?’' snapped Si, who 
was as irritable as a hungry and tired man gets. 
“You ’tend to your sisters and I’ll ’tend to mine. 
I’m helpin’ you. You don’t know Maria. She’s one 
o’ the best girls in the world, but she’s got a double- 
geared, self-actin’ tongue that’s sharper’n a briar. 
She winds it up Sundays and lets it run all week. 
I’ve got to comb her down every little while. She’s 
a filly you can’t manage with a snaffle. Let her git 
the start and you’d better be dead. The boys in 


GUARDING THE KNIGHTS. 


199 



‘I HAVE COME, SIR, IN THE NAME OF THE PEOPLE OF 
INDIANA TO DEMAND THE RELEASE OF 
THOSE MEN.’' 


200 


SI KLEGG. 


our neighborhood’s afeared to say their soul’s their 
own when she gits a-goin’. You ’tend to the other, 
girls and leave me to ’tend to her. She’s my sister 
— nobody else’s.” 

Shorty fell back a little and walked sullenly along. 
The people at the house were expecting them, and 
had a bountiful supper prepared. A good, sousing 
wash in the family lavatory in the entry, plentifully 
supplied with clear water, soap, tin basins and clean 
roller towels, helped much to restore the boys’ self- 
respect and good humor. When they were seated 
at the table Maria, as the particular friend of the 
family, assisted as hostess, and paid especial atten- 
tion to supplying Shorty’s extensive wants, and by 
her assiduous thoughtfulness strengthened her 
chains upon him and soothed the hurts her tongue 
had made. Yet he could not see her whisper to one 
of the other girls, and hear the responsive giggle, 
but he thought with flushed face that it concerned 
the Bad Ax incident. But Maria was not doing any 
such covert work. She was, above everything, bold 
and outspoken. 

“You girls that want a soldier-beau,” she took 
opportunity to remark at a little pause in the feast, 
“kin jest set your caps for Mr. Corpril Elliott there. 
He’s in the market. He had a girl up in Bad Ax, 
Wis., but she went back on him, and married a 
stay-at-home widower, who’s in the lumber busi- 
ness.” 

There was a general giggle, and a chorus of ex- 
clamations at such unpatriotic and unwomanly per- 
fldy. Shorty’s appetite fled. 


GUARDING THE KNIGHTS. 


201 


“Maria/’ thundered Si, “I’ll make you pay for 
this when I git you alone.” 

“Yes,” continued the incorrigible tease; “and they 
say the best time to ketch a widder is while her eyes 
is wet. Transplantin’s best in wet weather, and the 
best time to ketch a feller’s jest when he’s bin jilted.” 

Si sprang from the table, as if he would catch 
Maria and slap her. She laughingly threatened him 
with a big fork in her hand. They happened to look 
toward Shorty. He had risen from the table, with 
the sweat pouring from his burning face. He fum- 
bled in his breast for his silk handkerchief. As he 
pulled it out there came with it the piece of Maria’s 
dress, which Shorty had carefully treasured: It fell 
to the floor. Shorty saw it, and forgetful of all else, 
stooped over, picked it up, carefully brushed the 
dust from it, refolded it and put it back in his 
pocket. Maria’s face changed instantly from laugh- 
ing raillery, and she made a quick movement to place 
herself where she would hide from the rest what 
he was doing. 

There was a rap at the door and the Sheriff of 
the County entered. 

“Sorry to disturb you at supper,” he said. “But 
there’s some hint of trouble, and I’d like to have you 
stand by to help me if it comes. The news has 
gone all over the country of the haul you brung into 
the jail this afternoon, and they say their friends 
are gatherin’ for a rescue. So many o’ the right 
kind o' the boys is away in the army that I hardly 
know where to look for help. I’m sending word 
around to all I kin reach. There’s several o' the 
boys that're home gittin’ well o' wounds that'll be 


202 


SI KLEGG. 


glad to help, rm sendin’ buggies for 'em. They 
can’t walk, but they kin stand up and shoot. I’d 
like to have you come down to the jail as soon’s 
you git through your supper. And, Serg’t Klegg, 
will you take command? I ain’t much on the mili- 
tary, but I’ll stay with you and obey orders.” 

“All right. Sheriff; we’ll be right down,” re- 
sponded Si with alacrity. “Git together a few of 
the boys, and we’ll stand off the Knights. There 
won’t be much trouble, I think.” 

The prospect of a fight transformed Shorty. His 
shamefacedness vanished instantly, and he straight- 
ened up to his full hight with his eyes shining. 

“I don’t think there’s need o’ disturbin’ the other 
boys. Sheriff,” he said. “I guess me and Si’ll be 
able to stand off any crowd that they’re likely to run 
up aginst us.” 

“Don’t know about that,” said the Sheriff doubt- 
fully. “They’ve bin gittin’ sassier and sassier lately, 
and’ve showed more willingness to fight. They’ve 
put up several very nasty little shindies at one place 
or another. Out at Charleston, 111., they killed the 
Sheriff and a lot o’ soldiers right in the Courthouse 
yard in broad daylight. I believe they’ve got rebels 
for officers. We mustn’t take no chances.” 

“Let ’em come on,” said Si. “We’ve run up aginst 
rebels before. We’ll be down to the jail in a few 
minutes. Sheriff.” 

The Sheriff’s words had banished the ready laugh- 
ter from the girls’ lips, and taken away their appe- 
tites, but seemed to have sharpened those of Si and 
Shorty. 

“Here, Maria,’' called out Si, as he resumed his 


guarding the knights. 


203 


place at the table with Shorty, while the girls 
grouped together and whispered anxiously, ^‘bring 
us in some more o’ them slapjacks. We may have 
to be up all night, and want somethin’ that’ll stay 
by us.” 

“Yes,” echoed Shorty, speaking for the first time 
since he had come into the house; “I feel as if I’d 
like to begin all over agin.” 

“I wish you could begin all over agin,” said Maria 
in a tone very different from her former one. “I’d 
like to cook another supper for you. I wish I could 
do something to help. Can’t I go with you and do 
something — load guns, or something? I’ve read 
about women doin’* somethin’ o’ that kind in the 
Injun fightin’.” 

“If you could git ’em within range o’ your tongue, 
Maria,” said Si merrily, “you’d scatter ’em in short 
order. No; you stay here, and say your prayers, 
and go to bed like a good girl, and don’t worry about 
us. We’ll come out all right. It’s the other fellers’ 
womenfolks that’ve cause to worry. Let them stay 
up and walk the fioor.” 

As the boys walked down to the jail they saw 
in the darkness squads of men moving around in a 
portentious way. At the* jail were the Sheriff, 
wearing an anxious look, two or three citizens, and 
several soldiers, some with their arms in slings, 
others on crutches. 

“I’m so glad you’ve come,” said the Sheriff. 
“Things is beginnin’ to look very ugly outside. 
They’ve got the whole country stirred up, and men 
are coming in on every road. You take command. 
Sergeant Klegg. I’ve bin waitin’ for you, so’s I 


204 


SI KLEGG. 


could drive over to the station and send a dispatch 
to the Governor. The station’s about a mile from 
here, but I’ll be back as soon as my horse’ll bring 
me. I didn’t want to send the dispatch till I was 
sure there was need of it, for I don’t want to bring 
soldiers here for nothin’.” 

The wheels of the Sheriff’s buggy rattled over the 
graveled road, and a minute later there was a knock 
at the outside door. Si opened it and saw there a 
young man with a smoothly-shaven face, a shock of 
rumpled hair and wearing a silk hat, a black frock- 
coat and seedy vest and pantaloons. Si at once 
recognized him as a lawyer of the place. 

“Who’s in charge here?” he asked. 

“I am> for the present,” said Si. 

“There it is,” said he, in a loud voice, that others 
might hear ; “a military guard over citizens arrested 
without warrant of law. I have come, sir, in the 
name of the people of Indiana, to demand the im- 
mediate release of those men.” 

“You kin go, sir, and report to them people that 
it won’t be did,” answered Si firmly. 

“But they’ve been arrested without due process of 
law. They’ve been arrested in violation of the Con- 
stitution and laws of the State of Indiana, which 
provide” 

“I ain’t here to run no debatin’ society,” Si inter- 
rupted, “but to obey my orders, which is to hold 
these men safe and secure till otherwise ordered.” 

“I give you fair warning that you will save blood- 
shed by releasing the men peaceably. We don’t 
want to shed blood, but” 

“We’ll take care o’ the bloodshed,” said Si, non- 


GUARDING THE KNIGHTS. 


205 


chalantly. ‘'We’re in that business. We git $13 a 
month for it.” 

“Do you defy the sovereign people of Indiana, you 
military autocrat?” said the lawyer. 

“Look here, mister,” said Shorty, striding for- 
ward. “Don’t you call my pardner no names, es- 
pecially none like that. If you want a fight we’re 
here to accommodate you till you git plum-full of it. 
But you musn’t call no sich names as that, or I’ll 
knock your head off.” 

“Whose head’ll you knock off?” said a burly man, 
thrusting himself in front of the lawyer, with his 
fist doubled. 

“Yours, for example,” promptly responded Shorty, 
sending out his mighty right against the man’s head. 

“Don’t be a fool, Markham,” said the lawyer, 
catching the man and pushing him back into the 
crowd behind. “Now, sir. Sergeant, or Captain, or 
Colonel, whatever you may call yourself, for I 
despise military titles, and don’t pretend to know 
them, I again demand the release of those men. 
You’ll be foolish to attempt to resist, for we’ve men 
enough to tear you limb from limb, and jerk down 
the jail over your heads. Look out for yourself. 
You can see that the courtyard is full of men. They 
are determined — desperate, for they have groaned 
under the iron heel of tyranny” 

“0, cheese that stump-speech,” said Si, weariedly. 
“ ’Taint in our enlistment papers to have to listen 
to ’em. You’ve bin warnin’, now I’ll do a little. 
I’ll shoot the first man that attempts to enter this 
jail till the Sheriff gits back. If you begin any 
shoo tin’ we’ll begin right into your crowd, and 


206 


SI KLEGG. 


we’ll make you sick. There’s some warnin’ that 
means somethin’.” 

“Your blood be on your own heads, then, you 
brass-button despots,” said the lawyer, retiring into 
the darkness and the crowd. He seemed to give a 
signal, for a rocket shot up into the air, followed 
by wild yells from the mob. The large wooden stable 
in the Courthouse yard burst into flames, and the 
prisoners inside yelled viciously in response. There 
was a fusillade of shots, apparently excited and aim- 
less, for none of them struck near. 

“Don’t Are, boys,” said Si, walking around among 
his guards, “until there is some reason for it. They’ll 
probably try to make a rush and batter down the 
jail door. We’ll watch for that.” 

The glare of the burning building showed them 
preparing for that move. A gang had torn off the 
heavy rail from the hitching-post on the outside of 
the square, and were going to use it as a battering- 
ram. Then came another kind of yell from farther 
away, and suddenly the mob began running in wild 
confusion, while into the glare swept a line of sol- 
diers, charging with fixed bayonets. 

“A train came in while I was at the depot,” the 
Sheriff explained, as he entered the office. “It had 
on it a regiment going home on veteran furlough. 
I asked the Major in command to come over and 
help us. He and his boys was only too glad for a 
chance to have some fun and stretch their legs. 
They came off the cars with a whoop as soon’s they 
knowed what was wanted. Now, you boys kin go 
home and git a good night’s sleep. I’ll take these 
prisoners along with the regiment over to the next 


GUARDING THE KNIGHTS. 


207 


County seat, and keep ’em there till things cool down 
here. ' I’m awfully obliged to you.” 

“Don’t mention it. Glad to do a little thing like 
that for you any time,” responded Si, as he and 
Shorty shook hands with the Sheriff. 

At the next corner, after leaving the Courthouse 
square, they met Maria and Martha. 

“I just couldn’t stay in the house while this was 
goin’ on,” Maria explained. “I had to come out and 
see. 0, I’m so glad it’s all over and you’re not 
hurt.” 

She caught Shorty’s arm with a fervor that made 
him thrill all over. 


CHAPTER XV. 


OFF FOR THE FRONT — SI AND SHORTY TAKE CHARGE 
OF A SQUAD OF RECRUITS. 

W HEN the boys came to breakfast the next 
morning, they found Maria with the holly- 
hock effulgence of garb of the day before 
changed to the usual prim simplicity of her house- 
dress. This meant admiration striking Shorty still 
dumber. He was in that state of mind when every 
change in the young woman's appearance seemed 
a marvelous transpormation and made her more 
captivating than before. He had thought her 
queenly dazzling in her highly-colored '‘go-to-meet- 
ing" plumage of the day before. She was now 
simply overpowering in her plain, close-fitting calico, 
that outlined her superb bust and curves, with her 
hair combed smoothly back from her bright, ani- 
mated face. Shorty devoured her with his eyes — 
that is, when she was not looking in his direction. 
He would rather watch her than eat his breakfast, 
but when her glance turned toward him he would 
drop his eyes to his plate. This became plain to 
everybody, even Maria, but did not prevent her be- 
ginning to tease. 

"What’s the matter with you? Where’s your ap- 
petite?’’ asked she. "You’re clean off your feed. 
You must be in love. Nothin’ else’d make a man 
go back on these slapjacks that Cousin Marthy made 
with her own hands, and she kin beat the County 


OFF FOR THE FRONT. 


209 


on slapjacks. Mebbe you’re thinkin’ o’ your Bad 
Ax girl and her widower. Perk up. He may fall 
offen a saw4og and git drowned, and you git her yit. 
Never kin tell. Life’s mighty uncertain, especially 
around saw-mills. When I marry a man he’s got to 
give bonds not to have anything to do, in no way 
or shape, with saw-mills. I don’t want to be a 
widder, or take care o’ half a man for the rest o’ 
my days. You’ve got a chance to git your girl yit. 
Mebbe she’ll git tired o’ him after he’s bin run 
through the mill two or three times, and there’s 
more o’ him in the graveyard than there is walkin’ 
to church with her. Cheer up.” 

Shorty tried to disprove the charge as to the sub- 
ject of his thoughts by falling to furiously and with 
such precipitation that he spilt his coffee, upset 
the molasses- jug, and then collapsed in dismay at 
his clumsiness. 

Maria did not go free herself. The other girls 
had not been blind to Shorty’s condition of mind, 
and rather suspected that Maria was not wholly 
indifferent to him. When she came into the kitchen 
for another supply. Cousin Susie, younger sister of 
Martha, remarked: 

“Maria, I’ve a notion to take your advice, and 
set my cap for Corpril Shorty. Do you know, I 
think he’s very good lookin’. He’s a little rough 
and clumsy, but a girl could take that out o’ him. 
I believe I’ll begin right away. You stay in here 
and bake and I’ll wait on the table.” 

“Don’t be a little goose, Susie,” said Maria se- 
verely. “You’re too young yit to think about beaux. 
You hain’t got used to long dresses yit. You go 


210 


SI KLEGG. 


practice on boys in roundabouts awhile. This is a 
full-grown man and a soldier. He hain’t got no time 
to waste on schoolgirls.'' 

“La, how you talk, Miss Jealousy," responded 
Susie. “How scared you are lest I cut you out. 
I've a great mind to do it, just to show you I kin. 
I'd like awfully to have a sweetheart down at the 
front, just to crow over the rest o' the girls. Here, 
you take the turner and let me carry that plate in." 

“I'll do nothin' o' the kind," said Maria, decisively. 
“You look out for your cakes there. They're burnin' 
while you’re gossipin'. That’s my brother and his 
friend, and I hain’t got but a short time to be with 
'em. I may never see 'em agin, and I want to do all 
I kin for ’em while they're with me." 

“Too bad about your brother,” laughed Susie. 
“How lovin’ and attentive all at once. I remember 
how you used to wig him without mercy at school, 
and try to make him go off and take me home, instid 
o’ taggin’ along after you, when that big-eyed school 
teacher that sung tenor’d be makin’ sheep’s eyes at 
you in school, and wantin’ to walk home with you 
in the evenin'. I remember your slappin’ Si for 
tellin' the folks at home about the teacher and you 
takin’ long walks at noon out to the honeysuckle 
patch. I’ve a great mind to go in and tell it all to 
Si right before that feller. Then your cake’ll all 
be dough. Don’t git too uppish with me, young 
lady. Gi’ me that plate and let me take it in." 

The cakes on the griddles burned while Maria 
watched through the door what she mentally de- 
scribed as the “arts and manuvers o’ that sassy 
little piece.” She was gratified to see that Shorty’s 


OFF FOR THE FRONT. 


211 


eyes kept glancing at the door for her own reappear- 
ance. She carried in the next plate of cakes her- 
self, and though they were a little scorched, Shorty 
ate them with more zest than any of their prede- 
cessors. 

Si announced, as he shoved back from the table : 

“Well, we’ve got to go right off. We must ketch 
that accommodation and git back to Bean Blossom 
Crick. I want to say good-by to the folks, and then 
strike out for Jeffersonville. Fve reported that I’m 
able for dooty agin, and there’s orders at home for 
me and Shorty to go to Jeffersonville and git a gang 
o’ recruits that’s bin gethered there, and bring ’em 
to the rijimint.” 

Shorty had been in hopes that Si would dally for 
a day or so in these pleasant pastures, but then he 
reflected that where Annabel was was likely to be 
much more attractive to Si than where she was not. 

“No need o’ my goin’ back with you,” he ventured 
to suggest, speaking for the first time. “I might 
take the train goin’ East, and git things in shape at 
Jeffersonville by the time you come.” 

Then his face grew hot with the thought that 
everyone saw through his transparent scheme to get 
an hour or two more with Maria. 

“No,” said Si, decisively. “You’ll go back with 
me. Father and mother and ’Mandy are all anxious 
to see you, and they’ll never forgive me if I don’t 
bring you back with me. Le’s start.” 

If, at parting. Shorty had mustered up courage 
enough to look Maria squarely in the eyes, he might 
have read something there to encourage him, but 
no deeply-smitten man ever can do this. There is 


212 


SI KLEGG. 


where the “light o’ loves” have the great advantage. 
He could only grip her hand convulsively for an 
instant, and then turn and follow Si. 

At the Deacon’s home Shorty found the same 
quiet, warm welcome, with too much tact on the 
part of anyone except little Sammy Woggles to make 
any comment on the circumstances of his disappear- 
ance. Sammy was clearly of the opinion that Si 
had run down Shorty and brought him back, and 
this had the beneficial effect of dampening Sammy’s 
runaway schemes. He was also incensed at Shorty’s 
perfidy in not sending him the rebel gun, and thought 
that his being brought back was righteous retribu- 
tion. 

“Served you right, you black-hearted promise- 
breaker,” he hissed at Shorty when they found 
themselves momentarily alone. “I writ you that 
letter, and it nearly killed me — ^brung me down with 
the measles, and you never sent me that gun. But 
I’ll foller yer trail till you do.” 

“Don’t be a little fool, Sammy. You stay right 
here. You’ve got the best home in the world here. 
If you do I’ll send you your gun inside of a month, 
with some real rebel catridges and a bayonet that’s 
killed a man, and a catridge-box with a belt that 
you kin carry your ammunition in — that is, if you’ll 
write me another letter, all about Maria.” 

“I won’t write you a word about Maria,” said the 
youth, seeing his advantage, “onless you promise to 
send me a whole lot o’ catridges — a hatful. Powder 
and lead costs a heap o’ money. And so do caps.” 

“You shall have ’em. I’ll tell you what I’ll do. 


OFF FOR THE FRONT. 


213 



''i'll send you a catridge and cap for every 

WORD YOU WRITE ABOUT MARIA." 


214 


SI KLEGG. 


I'll send you a catridge and cap for every word 
you write about Maria." 

‘'It's a go," said the delighted boy. “I'm goin' to 
learn someway to write without bitin' my tongue, 
an' I'll write you as many words every day as I 
want catridges to shoot off, so that I'll have enough 
for the next Fourth o' July, and kill all old Pete 
Walker's snappin' dogs besides." 

The boys were to leave on the midnight train. 
The bigger part of Si's leave-taking seemed to be 
outside of his family, for he quit the house immedi- 
ately after supper and did not leave Annabel's side 
until he had just barely time to get back home, take 
leave of his weeping mother and help store in the 
spring wagon more than he and Shorty could carry 
of the good things she had provided for them. 

“What's this?" said Si to Shorty the next day at 
Jeffersonville, when they had reported to the Pro- 
vost-Marshal, and had mustered before them the 
squad of recruits that they were to conduct to their 
regiment. “Have they bin roundin' up some country 
school-houses, and enlisted all the boys that was in 
the fourth reader and Ray's arithmetic?" 

“Seems like it," said Shorty, looking down the 
line of bright, beardless, callow faces. “Some o' 
them don't look as if they'd got as fur as the fourth 
reader. Ain't old enough to spell words o' more 
than two syllables. What do they want with so 
many drummer-boys?" 

“We aint no drummer-boys," said a bright-faced 
five-footer, who overhead the question. “Nary drum 
for us. We haint got no ear for music. We're reg- 
ular soldiers, we are, and don't you forget it." 


OFF FOR THE FRONT. 


215 


''But you aint nigh 18/' said Si, looking him over, 
pleased with the boy’s spirit. 

"You bet I’m over 18,” answered the boy. "I told 
the Mustering Officer I was, and stuck to it in spite 
of him. There, you can see for yourself that I 
am,” and he turned up his foot so as to show a large 
18 marked on the sole of his shoe. "There, if that 
don’t make me over 18, I’d like to know what does,” 
he added triumphantly, to the chorus of laughter 
from his companions. 

In the entire squad of 65 there were not more 
than half a dozen bearded men. The rest were boys, 
all clearly under their majority, and many seeming 
not over 15. There were tall, lathy boys, with 
tallowy faces; there were short, stocky boys, with 
big legs and arms and fat faces as red as ripe 
apples, and there were boys neither very fat nor 
very lean, but active and sprightly as cats. They 
were in the majority. Long and short, fat and lean, 
they were all bubbling over with animal spirits and 
activity, and eager to get where they could see 
"real war.” 

"Say, mister,” said the irrepressible five-footer, 
who had first spoken to Si ; "we’ve bin awful anxious 
for you to come and take us to our regiment. We 
want to begin to be real soldiers.” 

"Well, my boy,” said Si, with as much paternalism 
as if he had been a grandfather, "you must begin 
right now, by actin’ like a real soldier. First, you 
mustn’t call me mister. Mustn’t call nobody mister 
in the army. My name’s Sergeant Klegg. This 
other pian is Corporal Elliott. You must always 
call us by those names. When you speak to either 


216 


SI KLEGG. 


of US you must take the position of a soldier — stand 
up straight, put your heels together, turn your toes 
out, and salute, this way.” 

“Is this right?” asked the boy, carefully imi- 
tating Si. 

“Yes, that’s purty near right — very good for first 
attempt. Now, when I speak to you, you salute and 
answer me. What is your name?” 

“Henry Joslyn, sir.” 

“Well, Henry, you are now Private Joslyn, of the 
200th Injianny Volunteer Infantry. I can’t tell 
what company you’ll belong to till we git to the 
rigimint, but I’ll try to have you in Co. Q, my 
company.” 

“But when are we going to get our guns and knap- 
sacks and things, and start for the regiment?” per- 
sisted the eager boy, and the others joined in the 
impatient inquiry. 

“You won’t git your guns and accourterments till 
you git to the rigimint. As soon’s I kin go over 
this roll and identify each one o’ you. I’ll see what 
the orders is for starting.” 

“There goes some men for the ferry now. Why 
can’t we go with them?” persisted the boy. 

“Private Joslyn,” said Si, with some official stern- 
ness, “the first thing a soldier’s got to learn is to 
keep quiet and wait for orders. You understand?” 
. “ ’Pears to me that there’s a lot o’ first things to 

learn,” grumbled the boy to the others, “and it’s 
nothin’ but wait, wait forever. The army’ll go off 
and leave us if we don’t get down there purty soon.” 

“Don’t worry, my boy, about the army goin’ off 
and leavin’ you,” said Shorty in a kindly way. “It’ll 


OFF FOR THE FRONT. 


217 


wait. It kin be depended on for that. Besides, it's 
got to wait for me and Sargint Klegg." 

‘‘That’s so. Didn’t think o’ that,” chorused the 
boys, to whose eyes the two veterans seemed as 
important as Gens. Grant or Thomas. 

“That’s purty light material for serious bizniss, 
I’m afeared,” said Shorty to Si, as they stood a 
little apart for a moment and surveyed the coltish 
boys, frisking around in their new blouses and pant- 
aloons, which fitted about like the traditional shirt 
on a bean-pole. 

“I think they’re just splendid,” said Si, enthusi- 
astically. “They’ll fill in the holes o’ the old rigimint 
in great shape. They’re as tough as little wildcats ; 
they’ll obey orders and go wherever you send ’em, 
and four out o’ every five o’ them kin knock over a 
crow at a hundred yards with a squirrel rifle. But, 
Shorty,” he added with a sudden assumption of 
paternal dignity, “me and you’s got to be fathers to 
them. We’ve got a great responsibility for them. 
We must do the very best we kin by ’em.” 

“That’s so,” said Shorty, catching at once the 
fatherly feeling. “I’ll punch the head offen the first 
snoozer that I ketch tryin’ to impose on ’em.” 


CHAPTER XVL 


THE TROUBLESOME BOYS — SI AND SHORTY'S RECRUITS 
ENTER KENTUCKY. 

T he bright, active minds of the 65 boys that 
Si and Shorty were put in charge of were 
aflame with curiosity regarding everything 
connected with the war. For two years they had 
been fed on stories and incidents of the mighty 
conflict then convulsing the land. Every breath 
they had drawn had some taste of battle in it. 
Wherever they went or were they heard incessantly 
of the storm-swept “front” — of terriflc battles, 
perilous adventures, heroic achievements, death, 
wounds and marvelous escapes. The older boys 
were all at the front, or going there, or coming 
back with heroic marks of shot and shell. The one 
burning aspiration in every well-constructed boy’s 
heart was to get big enough to crowd past the re- 
cruiting officer, and go where he could see with his 
own eyes the thunderous drama. There was con- 
centrated all that fills a healthy boy’s imagination 
and stirs his blood — something greater than Indian- 
fighting, or hunting lions and tigers. They looked 
on Si and Shorty with little short of reverence. 
Here were two men who had captured a rebel flag 
in a hand-to-hand fight, both of whom had been left 
for dead, and both promoted for gallantry. What 
higher pinnacle of greatness could any boy hope to 
reach ? 


THE .TROUBLESOME BOYS. 


219 


They began at once seriously imitating the walk 
and manners of their heroes. The tall, lank boys 
modeled themselves on Shorty, and the short, chubby 
ones on Si. And there at once rose contention 
between them as to which was the greater hero. 

‘T heard,'’ said Henry Joslyn, '‘that Corpril Elliott 
was the first to reach the rebel flag, he havin' much 
the longest legs, but jest as he grabbed it a big 
rebel knocked him, and then they all piled on to 
him, and about had him finished when Serg't Klegg 
reached there at a charge bayonets, and he bayo- 
neted everybody in sight, until a sharpshooter in a 
tree shot him with an explosive bullet that tore his 
breast all to pieces, but he kept right on bayonetin' 
'em till he dropped from loss o' blood. Then they 
fired a cannon at the sharpshooter and blowed him 
to pieces just as you'd blow a chippy to pieces with 
a bullet from a bear-gun." 

“ 'Twan't that way at all," said tall, lathy Gid 
Mackall. “A whole lot of 'em made for the flag 
together. A charge o' grapeshot come along and 
blowed the rest away, but Serg't Klegg and Corpril 
Elliott kep' right on. Then Corpril Elliott he lit 
into the crowd o' rebels and laid a swath right 
around him, while Sergint Klegg grabbed the flag. 
A rebel Colonel shot him, but they couldn't stop 
Corpril Elliott till they shot a brass six-pounder at 
him." 

The boys stood on the banks of the Ohio River 
and gazed eagerly at the other side. There was the 
enemy's country — there the theater in which the 
great drama was being enacted. Everything there 
had a weird fascination for them, as a part of, or 


220 


SI KLEGG. 


accessory to, the stupendous play. It was like peep- 
ing under the circus tent, when they were smaller, 
and catching glimpses of the flying horses’ feet. 

And the questions they asked. Si had in a man- 
ner repelled them by his curt treatment of Harry 
Joslyn, and his preoccupied air as he went back and 
forth getting his orders and making preparations 
for starting. But Shorty was in an affable mood, 
and by pleasantly answering a few of their inquiries 
brought the whole fire of their questioning upon him. 

'^Are any o’ them men you see over there guer- 
rillas?” they asked. 

'‘Mebbe,” Shorty answered. “Kentucky’s full of 
’em. Mebbe they’re peaceable citizens, though.” 

“How kin you tell the guerrillas from the 
citizens ?” 

“By the way they shoot at you. The peaceable 
citizens don’t shoot — at least, in day time and out 
in the open. They lay for you with sole-leather pies, 
and chuck-a-luck boards and 40-rod whisky, and aid 
and abet the Southern Confedrisy that way. They 
get away with more Union soldiers than the guer- 
rillas do. But you can never tell what an able- 
bodied man in Kentucky’ll do. He may lay for you 
all day with wildcat whisky, at $5 a canteenful, to 
git money to buy ammunition to shoot at you at 
night. He’s surer o’ gittin’ you with a canteen o’ 
never-miss whisky, but there’s more healthy excite- 
ment about shootin’ at you from behind a bank. 
And his pies is deadlier ’n his apple-jack. A man 
kin git over an apple-jack drunk, but Kentucky pies 
’s wuss’n nux vomica on fish.” 

“Mustn’t we eat none o’ their pies?” asked the 


THE TROUBLESOME BOYS. 


221 


boys, with longing remembrance of the fragrant 
products of their mothers’ ovens. 

“Nary a pie. If I ketch a boy eatin’ a pie after 
we cross the river I’ll buck-and-gag him. Stick to 
plain hardtack and pork. You’ll git to like it 
better’n cake by and by. I eat it right along in 
preference to the finest cake ever baked.” 

Shorty did not think it necessary to mention that 
this preference was somewhat compulsory. 

“Why don’t you hunt down the guerrillas and kill 
’em off and be done with ’em?” 

“You can’t, very well. You see, guerrilain’ is 
peculiar. There’s somethin’ in the air and water 
down in Kentucky and Tennessee that brings it on 
a man. You’ll see a plain farmer man, jest like 
them around your home, and he’ll be all right, goin’ 
about his place plowin’ and grubbin’ sprouts and 
tendin’ to his stock, and tellin’ you all the time how 
much he loves the Union and how he and his folks 
always bin for the Union. Next thing you know 
he’ll be out behind a cedar bush with a shotgun 
loaded with slugs, waitin’ to make a lead mine o’ 
some feller wearin’ blue clothes. You see him be- 
fore he does you, and he’ll swear that he was out 
after the crows that’s bin pullin’ up his corn. He’ll 
take the oath of allegiance like it was a dram of old 
apple-jack, and tears’ll come into his eyes at the 
sight o’ the Old Flag, which he and his’n has always 
loved. He’ll go ahead plowin’ and grubbin’ sprouts 
and tendin’ his cattle till the fit comes on him agin 
to go gunnin’ for bluecoats, and off he is, to go 
through the whole performance agin. You kin 
never tell how long his loosid interval will last, nor 


222 


SI KLEGG. 


when the fit^s cornin’ on him. Mebbe the changes 
o’ the moon’s somethin’ to do with it. Mebbe it’s 
somethin’ that they eat, like what the cattle eat out 
West that makes ’em go crazy.” 

"‘Will the guerrillas begin shootin’ at us as. soon’s 
we cross the river?” 

'‘Can’t tell. Guerrillas’s like the nose-bleed — 
likely to come on you at any time. They’re jest 
where you find ’em — that’s when they’re jumpin’ 
you. When they aint jumpin’ you, they’re law- 
abiding Union citizens, entitled to the protection o’ 
the laws and to draw rations from the Commissary. 
To make no mistake, you want to play every man 
in citizen’s clothes south of the Ohio River for a 
rebel. And when you don’t see him, you want to 
be surer than ever, for then he’s layin’ for you.” 

Si came up at this moment with orders for them 
to pick up and go down to the ferry, and the lively 
hustle shut off Shorty’s stream of information for 
the time being. The boys swarmed on to the bow 
of the ferry-boat, where they could scrutinize and 
devour with eager eyes the fateful shore of Ken- 
tucky. 

“Don’t look so very different from the Indiana 
side,” said Harry Joslyn, as they neared the wharf. 
“Same kind o’ wharf-boats and same kind o’ men 
on ’em.” 

“That’s because we’ve taken ’em and have our 
own men there,” replied Gid Mackall. “It’ll all be 
different when we git ashore and further into the 
State.” 

“Wasn’t expecting nothing else,” said Albert 
Grimes. “I’ve been watchin’ the Sargint and Cor- 


THE TROUBLESOME BOYS. 


223 


pril, and they’re acting just as if it was every day 
bizniss. I’m not going to expect anything till I see 
them lookin’ serious.” 

They landed and walked to the depot through the 
streets of Louisville, which were also disappoint- 
ingly like those they had seen elsewhere, with the 
stores open and people going about their business, 
as if no shadow of war brooded over the land. 
There were some more soldiers on the streets, and 
a considerable portion of the vehicles were army 
wagons, but this was all. 

'‘When’ll we see some rebels?” the boys asked. 

"Don’t be impatient,” said a soldier on the side- 
walk; "you’ll see ’em soon enough, and more’n you 
want to. You’ll have to go a little further, but 
you’ll find the woods full of ’em. You’ll be wishin’ 
you was back home in your little trundle-beds, where 
they ought’ve kept you.” 

"Shut up, you coffee-boiler,” shouted Shorty, 
striding toward him. "These boys ’s goin’ to the 
front, where you ought to be, and I won’t have you 
sayin’ a word to discourage ’em.” 

"Too bad about discouraging ’em,” laughed an- 
other, who had a juster appreciation of the situation. 
"You couldn’t discourage that drove of kids with a 
hickory club.” 

After the train left Louisville it passed between 
two strong forts bristling with heavy guns. Here 
was a reality of war, and the boys’ tide of questions 
became a torrent that for once overslaughed 
Shorty’s fine talent for fiction and misinformation. 

"How many battles had been fought there?” 

"How many Union soldiers had been killed?” 


224 


SI KLEGG. 


“How many rebels?” 

“Where were they buried?” 

“How big a ball did the guns shoot?” 

“How far would it carry?” 

“How many men would it kill if they were put 
one behind another?” 

“How near would the guns come to hitting a man 
a mile off?” 

“Could the gunner knock a man’s head off, or 
one of his legs, just as he pleased?” 

“Were the guns rifled or smooth-bore?” 

“How much powder did it take to load them?” 

“How hard did they kick when they were fired?” 

“Did they have flint-locks or caps?” 

“Did they ever fire chain-shot, which would cut 
down trees and sweep away companies of men?” 

“If all the rest of the men were killed wouldn’t 
the powder-monkey get a chance to fire the gun?” 

“Look here, boys,” gasped Shorty, when he got 
a chance to answer, “I’d like to answer your ques- 
tions and fill you so plumb full o’ information that 
your hides’d crack to hold it. But I aint no com- 
plete history o’ the war with heavy artillery tactics 
bound up in one volume. All I know is that the 
worst dose them forts ever give was to the fellers 
that had to build ’em. After you’ve dug and shov- 
eled and wheeled on one of ’em for about a month 
you’ll hate the very sight of ’em and never ask no 
questions about ’em. All you’ll want’ll be to find 
and kill the feller that invented them brick-red 
eruptions on the face o’ the earth.” 

This was a prosaic side of the war that had not 
occurred to the boys. 


THE TROUBLESOME BOYS. 



young brats, what are you up to?” 


“HERE, YOU 


226 


SI KLEGG. 


As the train ran out into the country there were 
plentiful signs of war to rivet the attention of the 
youngsters — hospitals, with the emaciated patients 
strolling feebly about; corrals of mules and horses, 
the waste and wreckage where camps had been, and 
bridges which had been burned and rebuilt. 

“But we haint seen no guerrillas yit,” said Harry 
Joslyn and Gid Mackall, whose minds seemed more 
fascinated with that species of an enemy than any 
other, and they apparently voiced the minds of the 
rest. “When’re we likely to see some guerrillas 

“0, the guerrillas are layin’ purty low now, be- 
twixt here and Nashville,’' Si carelessly explained. 
“After we pass Nashville you kin begin to look 
out for ’em.” 

“Why,” Gid Mackall complained to the rest of 
them, “Corpril Elliott said that we could begin to 
look out for guerrillas jest as soon’s we crossed the 
Ohio — that the whole o’ Kentucky was full of ’em. 
I believe Corpril Elliott knows more about his busi- 
ness than Sargint Klegg. Sargint Klegg seems 
careless like. I see lots o’ fellers along the road 
in butternut clothes that seemed savage and sneaky 
like. They looked at us in a way that made me 
certain they wuz spying us, and had their guns 
hid away somewhere, ready to jump us whenever 
there wuz a good chanst.” 

“So did I,” chorused the others. 

The train made a long stop on a switch and 
manuvered around a while, taking on some cars 
found there, and Si and Shorty seeing nothing to 
do went forward to another car, where they found 
some returning veterans, and were soon absorbed 


THE TROUBLESOME BOYS. 


227 


in a game of seven-up. Shorty had just success- 
fully turned a jack from the bottom, and was snick- 
ering to himself that his fingers had not lost their 
cunning by long idleness, when the game was inter- 
rupted by a train-hand rushing up with the inf or-' 
mation : 

“Here, you fellers, you want to git out there and 
’tend to them kids o’ your’n. They’ve got a couple 
o’ citizens down there in the brush and I believe 
are goin’ to hang ’em.” 

Si and Shorty ran down in the direction indicated. 
They found the boys, stern-eyed and resolute, sur- 
rounding two weak-eyed, trembling “crackers,” who 
had apparently come to the train with baskets of 
leathery-crusted dried-apple pies for sale. The men 
were specimens of the weak-minded, weak-bodied, 
lank-haired “po’ white trash,” but the boys had 
sized them up on sight as dangerous spies and guer- 
rillas, had laid hands on them and dragged them 
down into the brush, where Gid Mackall and Harry 
Joslyn were doing a fair reproduction of Williams, 
Paulding and Van Wert searching Maj. Andre’s 
clothes for incriminating documents. They had the 
prisoners’ hands tied behind them and their ankles 
bound. So far they had discovered a clumsy brass- 
barreled pistol and an ugly-looking spring dirk, 
which were sufficient to confirm the dangerous char- 
acter of the men. Two of the boys had secured 
ropes from the train, which they were trying to 
fashion into hangman’s nooses. Gid and Harry 
finished a painstaking examination of the men’s 
ragged jeans vests, with a look of disappointment 


228 


SI KLEGG. 


at finding nothing more inculpating that some fish- 
hooks, chunks of twist tobacco and cob-pipes. 

“They must have ’em in their boots, boys. Pull 
’em off,” said Harry. “There’s where spies usually 
carry their most important papers.” 

“Here, you young brats, what are you up to?” 
demanded Si, striding in among them. 

“Why, Sargint,” said Harry Joslyn, speaking as 
if confident of being engaged in a praisworthy work, 
which should receive the commendation of his su- 
periors, “these’re two spies and guerrillas that we 
ketched right in the act, and we’re searchin’ ’em 
for evidence to hang ’em.” 

“Spies nothin’!” said Si. “Why, them fellers 
hain’t brains enough to tell a battery from a regi- 
ment, nor pluck enough to take a settin’ hen offen 
her nest. Let them go at once.” 

“Why, Corpril Elliott told us that every man in 
Kentucky, particularly them what sold pies, wuz 
dangerous, and liable to go guerrillying at any min- 
ute,” said Harry in an aggrieved tone. “These fel- 
lers seemed to be sneakin’ down to find that we 
hadn’t no guns and then jump us.” 

“Well, what I said wuz true on jineral principles,” 
laughed Shorty. “But there’s occasionally excep- 
tions to even what I tell you. These fellers are as 
harmless as garter-snakes. Why didn’t you come 
and speak to us?” 

“Why, you shoved our car out there into the 
brush and went off and left us. We thought we 
had to look out for ourselves,” explained Harry. 
“Can’t we hang ’em, anyway?” he added in an ap- 


THE TROUBLESOME BOYS. 


229 


pealing tone, and the rest of the boys looked wist- 
fully at Si for permission to proceed. 

“No, you can’t, I tell you. Turn ’em loose this 
minute, and give ’em back their things, and go 
yourselves to your car. We’re goin’ to start now. 
Here,” he continued to the two men, “is a dollar. 
Take your pies and dig out. Don’t attempt to sell 
any o’ them pies to these boys, or I’ll hang you 
myself, and there won’t be no foolishness about it. 
Git back to your car, boys.” 

“There won’t be no bangin’, and we won’t git none 
o’ the pies,” complained the boys among themselves. 
“Sargint Klegg’s gittin’ overbearin’. What’d he 
interfere for? Them fellers was guerrillas, as sure 
as you’re born, just as Corpril Elliott described ’em 
before we crossed the river.” 


CHAPTER XVII. 


THE FRIGHTENED SURGEON — SI AND SHORTY HAVE A 
TIME WITH THEIR WILD, YOUNG SQUAD. 

M uch to their amazement, the boys waked up 
the next morning in Nashville, and found 
that they liad passed through the “dark and 
bloody ground” of Kentucky absolutely without ad- 
venture. 

“How in the worlds we ever git clean through 
the State without the least bit o’ trouble?” asked 
Harry Joslyn, as they stood together on the plat- 
form awaiting the return of Si and Shorty, who had 
gone to see about their breakfast. “It was fight 
from the word go with the other men from the 
minute they struck Kentucky.” 

“Probably it was Corpril Elliott’s good manage- 
ment,” suggested Gid Mackall, whose hero-worship 
of Shorty grew apace. “I tell you there aint a 
trick o’ soldierin’ that he aint up to.” 

“Corpril Elliott’s?” sneered Harry Joslyn. 
“You’re just stuck on Corpril Elliott. If it was 
anybody’s good management it was Sargint Klegg’s. 
I tell you, he’s the boss. He got shot through the 
breast, while Corpril Elliott only got a crack over 
the head. That settles it as to who’s the best 
soldier. I’m kind o’ sorry that we didn’t have no 
trouble. Mebbe the folks at home’ll git the idea that 
we skulked and dodged.” 


THE FRIGHTENED SURGEON. 


231 


“That^s so,” accorded the others, with a troubled 
look. 

‘‘But we are now in Tennessee,” chirped in Gid 
Mackall hopefully. “That’s ever so much worse’n 
Kentucky. We must come to rebels purty soon now. 
They won’t let so many reinforcements git to Gen. 
Thomas if they kin help it.” And Gid looked around 
on his companions, as if he thought their arrival 
would turn the .scale and settle the fate of the 
Confederacy. They’ll probably jump us just as soon 
as we leave town. Them big forts on the hills 
mebbe keeps them outside now, but they’re layin’ 
for us just beyond. Wonder if we’ll git our guns 
here? Mebbe that’s what the Sargint and Corpril’s 
gone for.” 

“They said they were going for our breakfast,” 
said Harry. “And I hope it’s true, for I’m hun- 
grier’n a rip-saw. But I could put off breakfast 
for awhile, if they’d only bring us our guns. I hope 
they’ll be nice Springfield rifles that’ll kill a man 
at a mile.” 

“ ’Tention !” commanded Si. “Fall in single rank 
’cordin’ to your size. Tall boys on the right, short 
ones on the left, medium in the center. Gid Mackall, 
you’re the tallest. You can go there to the corner 
o’ the platform and let the others form on you.” 

Si stepped back into the shed to look after some 
matters. 

Harry Joslyn whipped around and took his stand 
on the right of Gid Mackall. 

“Here,” protested Gid ; “Sargint Klegg told me to 
stand on the right. You’re smaller’n me. Git on 
the other side.” 


232 


SI KLEGG. 


“I won’t do it,” answered Harry. “I’ve always 
stood ahead o’ you in school, ever since we were in 
the primer class, and I aint goin’ to stand behind you 
in the army. You needn’t try to gouge me out o’ 
my rights because you’re half-a-head taller. I’m 
two months older’n you, and I can throw you in a 
wrastle every time.” 

“I tell you,” said Gid, giving Harry an angry 
shove toward the left, “that this is my place, and 
I’m goin’ to stand here. The Sargint told me to. 
Go down where you belong, you little rat.” 

The hot-headed Harry mixed up with him immedi- 
ately, school-boy fashion. Shorty rushed up and 
separated the two, giving Harry a sharp shake. 
“Stop that, and go down to your place in the center,” 
said he. 

“Yes; you side with him,” whimpered Harry, 
“because he praises you and says you’re a better 
soldier’n Sargint Klegg. I’m goin’ to tell Sargint 
Klegg that.” 

“Here,” said Si, sternly, as he came back again. 
“What’s all this row? Why don’t you boys fall in 
’cordin’ to size, as I told you?” 

“Sargint,” protested Harry, “Gid Mackall wants 
to stand at the head o’ the class. I’m older’n him, 
I can spell him down, and I can throw him in” 

Si interrupted the appeal by taking Harry by the 
ear and marching him to his place. 

“Look here,” he said, “when you git an order 
from anyone, don’t give ’em no back talk. That’s 
the first thing you’ve got to learn, and the earlier 
you learn it the less trouble you’ll have. If you 


THE FRIGHTENED SURGEON. 


233 


don’t like it, take it out in swearin’ under your 
breath, but obey.” 

“But, Sargint, he said that Corpril Elliott was a 
better soldier’n” 

“Silence in ranks,” said Si, giving him a shake. 
“Right dress. Come out in the center. Mackall, 
stand up straight there. Take that hump out o’ 
your shoulders. Put your heels together, all of you. 
Turn your toes out. Put your little fingers down to 
the seams o’ your pantaloons. Draw your stomachs 
in. Throw your chests out. Hold your heads up. 
Keep your faces straight to the front, and cast your 
eyes to the right until you kin see the buttons on 
the breast o’ the third man to your right. Come 
forward until they’re in line. 

“Goodness,” moaned some of the boys, as they 
were trying to obey what seemed a hopeless mass 
of directions, “do we have to do this every mornin’ 
before we kin have breakfast? We’ll starve to death 
before we git anything to eat. No use tellin’ us to 
draw our stomachs in. They’re clean in to our back- 
bones now.” 

“Mustn’t talk in ranks, boys,” Shorty kindly ad- 
monished. “It’s strictly agin regulations. Straighten 
up, there, like soldiers, all o’ you, and git into a 
line. Looks like a ram’s horn now. If the rebels’d 
shoot down that line they wouldn’t hit one o’ you.” 

Jim Humphries, one of the medium-sized boys, 
suddenly turned as white as a sheet and fell on the 
planks. One after another of those around him did 
the same, until a half-dozen were lying there in 
a heap. 


234 


SI KLEGG. 


'‘What in the world’s the matter?” asked Si, rush- 
ing up to them in dismay. 

“They’re pizened, that’s what they are,” shouted 
Harry Joslyn. “That guerrilla goin’ over there 
pizened ’em. I saw him a-givin’ ’em something. 
He’s tryin’ to git away. Le’s ketch him.” 

At the word the boys made a rush for the man 
who was quietly walking off. As they ran they 
threw stones, which went with astonishing precision 
and force. One of them struck the man on the 
head and felled him. Then the boys jumped on 
him and began pounding and kicking him. Si and 
Shorty came up, pushed off the boys and pulled the 
man to his feet. He was terrified at the onset which 
had been made upon him, and could not understand 
its reason. 

“What’ve I done?” he gasped. “What’re all 
yo’uns weltin’ me for? I haint no rebel. I’ve done 
tuk the oath of allegiance long ago.” 

“Now there’ll be a hangin’ sure,” said Harry, in 
eager expectancy. 

“What’d you do to them boys back there?” de- 
manded Si. 

“Didn’t do nothin’ to ’em. Sw’ar to God A’mighty 
I didn’t.” 

“That telegraph pole will be just the thing to 
hang him on,” suggested Harry to Gid. “We could 
put him on a fiat car and push the car out from 
under him. I’ll look around for a rope, Gid, and 
you git ready to climb the pole.’’ 

“He did do something to ’em, Sargint,” said Gid 
Mackall. “I seen him givin’ ’em something.” 

“ ’Twas only a little mite o’ terbacker,” the man 


THE FRIGHTENED SURGEON. 


235 


explained. “They’uns said they'uns was mouty 
hongry, and wanted t’ know if I’d anything t’ eat. 
I hadn’t nothing, but I done had a little terbacker, 
which I tole ’em’d take away the hongry feelin’, and 
I gin each o’ they’uns a lettle chaw.” 

'‘I shouldn’t wonder but he’s tellin’ the truth,” 
Shorty whispered to Si. “Le’s take him back there 
and see.” 

Coming back to the platform they found the boys 
there recoving but still very weak and pale. They 
confirmed the story about the tobacco. Shorty ex- 
amined the rest of the tobacco in the man’s pos- 
session with the practiced taste of a connoisseur, 
found it strong black plug, just the thing to upset 
a green boy who took it on an empty stomach, cut 
off a liberal chew for himself and dismissed the man 
with a kick. 

“Now, le’s form agin and march to breakfast. 
Great Scott, how hungry I am,” said Si. “ ’Tention. 
Fall in ’cordin’ to size. Single rank.” 

“What’s size got to do with gittin’ breakfast?” 
complained Harry Joslyn, who had another griev- 
ance, now that he had again been disappointed in 
hanging a guerrilla. “Biggest boys’ll git there first 
and get the most to eat. The rest of us need just 
as much as they do.” 

“Silence in the ranks,” commanded Shorty, snap- 
pishly. “Don’t fool around. Git into your place 
and stay there. We want breakfast some time 
today.” 

Shorty lined up the boys in a hurry and Si com- 
manded. 


236 


SI KLEGG. 


“Right dress! Come out a little there on the 
left! Steady! Without doublin’, right face!” 

A squad of Provost-Guards came up at a double- 
quick, deployed, surrounded the squad and began 
bunching the boys together rather roughly, using 
the butts of their muskets. 

“What does this mean?” Si asked angrily of the 
Lieutenant in command. 

“It means that you and your precious gang have 
to go down to Provo’ Headquarters at once,” an- 
swered the Lieutenant. “And no words about it. 
Forward, march, now.” 

“But you’ve got no business to interfere with me,” 
protested Si. “I’ve got my orders to take this squad 
o’ recruits to my regiment, and I’m doin’ it. I’m 
goin’ to put ’em on the cars as soon’s I kin git break- 
fast for ’em, and start for Chattanoogy.” 

“Well, why didn’t you get breakfast for them and 
put them on the cars peaceably and quietly, without 
letting them riot around and kill citizens and do all 
manner of devilment. You have a fine account to 
settle.” 

“But they haint Jcilled no citizen. They haint bin 
riotin’ around, and I ain’t a-goin’ with you. You’ve 
no right, I tell you, to interfere with me.” 

“Well, you just will go with me, and no more 
chinning.” 

A Major, attracted by the altercation, rode up 
and asked what was the matter. 

“Word came to Headquarters,” explained the 
Lieutenant, “that a squad of recruits were rioting, 
and had killed a citizen, and I was sent down here 


THE FRIGHTENED SURGEON. 237 



“SMALLPOX, YOUR GRANNY,” SAID SI. 


238 


SI KLEGG. 


on the run to stop it and arrest the men. This 
Sergeant, who seems to be in command, refuses to 
go with me.” 

‘T tell you. Major,” said Si, who recognized the 
officer as belonging to his brigade, “there was no- 
body killed, or even badly hurt. These little roosters 
got up a school-yard scrap all about a mistake; it 
was all over in a minute. There’s the man they 
say was killed, settin’ over there on that pile o’ 
lumber smokin’ his pipe.” 

“You’re Si Klegg, aren’t you, of the 200th Ind.?” 
asked the Major. 

“Yes, Major,” answered Si, saluting. “And you’re 
Maj. Tomlinson, of the 1st Oshkosh. This is my 
pardner. Shorty.” 

“Glad to see you with Sergeant’s stripes on,” said 
the Major, shaking hands with him. “I congratu- 
late you on your promotion. You deserved it, I 
know.” 

“So did Shorty,” added Si, determined that his 
partner should not lack full measure of recognition. 

“Yes, I congratulate Shorty, too. Lieutenant, I 
know these men, and they are all right. There has 
been a mistake. You can take your men back to 
Headquarters.” 

“ ’Tention,” commanded the Lieutenant. “Get 
into line ! Right dress ! Front ! Right face ! For- 
ward, file left — march!” 

“ ’Tention,” commanded Si. “Fall in in single 
ranks, ’cordin’ to size. Be mighty spry about it. 
Right dress! Count off in whole numbers.” 

Another Provost squad came double-quicking up, 
followed by some ambulances. Again the boys were 


\ THE FRIGHTENED SURGEON. 239 

hurriedly bunched up. The Provost squad, how- 
ever, did not seem to want to come to as close 
quarters as the other had. They held back no- 
ticeably. 

‘‘Now, what in thunder does this mean?” asked 
Si with angry impatience. “What’s up now?” 

“Sergeant, are you in command of this squad?” 
asked a brisk little man with the green stripes of a 
Surgeon, who got out of one of the ambulances. 

“Yes, I am,” said Si, saluting as stiffly as he dared. 
“What’s the matter?” 

“Well, get those men of yours that are down into 
the ambulances as quickly as you can, and form 
those that are able to walk close behind. Be on 
the jump, because the consequences of your staying 
here may be serious to the army. How are you 
feeling yourself? Got any fever? Let me see your 
tongue.” 

‘'What in the world’s the matter with you?” asked 
Si in bewilderment. 

“Come, don’t waste any time asking questions,” 
answered the nervous little Surgeon. “There’s more 
troops coming right along, and we mustn’t take any 
chances of their catching it.” 

“Ketcn what? Great grief, ketch what?” groaned 
Si. “They’ve already ketched everything in this 
mortal world that was ketchable. Now what are 
they goin’ to ketch?” 

“Why, the smallpox, you dumby,” said the Sur- 
geon irritably. “Don’t you know that we are ter- 
ribly afraid of a visitation of smallpox to the army? 
They’ve been having it very bad in some places up 
North, and we’ve been watching every squad of 


240 


SI KLEGG. 


recruits from up there like hawks. A man came 
down to Hospital Headquarters just now and re- 
ported that a dozen of your boys had dropped right 
on the platform. He said that he knew you, and 
you came from a place in Indiana that's being swept 
by the smallpox." 

'‘Smallpox, your granny," said Si wrathfully. 
“There haint bin no smallpox in our neighborhood 
since the battle o’ Tippecanoe. The only man there 
who ever had it fit in the battle under Gen. Harrison. 
He had it when he was a child, and was so old that 
the pockmarks on him wuz wore so smooth you 
could scarcely see ’em. Our neighborhood’s so 
healthy you can’t even have a square case o’ measles. 
Gosh darn it," Si exploded, “what glandered fool 
was it that couldn’t tell ’backer-sick from small- 
pox? What locoed calves have you runnin’ up to 
your Headquarters bawlin’ reports?” 

“Sir,” said the Surgeon stiffly, “you forget that 
you are speaking to your superior officer." 

“Excuse me, Doctor," said Si, recovering himself 
and saluting. “I’m very hungry, and worried to 
death with these frisky kids that I’m trying to git 
to my regiment. The only trouble is that some of 
the trundle-bed graduates took their first chaw o’ 
terbacker this mornin’ on empty stomachs and it 
keeled ’em over. Come here and look at ’em your- 
self. You’ll see it in a minute." 

“Certainly. I see it very plainly," said the Sur- 
geon, after looking them over. “Very absurd to 
start such a report, but we are quite nervous on the 
subject of smallpox getting down to the army. 


THE FRIGHTENED SURGEON. 


241 


Take your men in and give them their breakfast, 
Sergeant, and they’ll be all right. 

“That’s what I’ve bin tryin’ to do for the last 
two hours,” said Si, as he saluted the Surgeon, 
departing with his ambulances and men. “ ’Tention. 
Confound you, fall in in single rank, ’cordin’ to size, 
and do it in short meter, before anything else hap- 
pens. Right dress! Front! Without doublin’, right 
face ! Great Scott, what’s the matter with you 
roosters? Don’t you know your right hands from 
your lefts ? Turn around there, you moon-eyed gos- 
lings! Forward — file right — march!” 

“Here, Sergeant,” said a large man with three 
chevrons on his arm. “I want to halt your men 
till I look ’em over. Somebody’s gone through a 
sutler’s car over there on the other track and I think 
it was your crowd. I want to find out.” 

“Halt nothin’,” said Si, brushing him out of the 
way. “I’m goin’ to git these youngsters their break- 
fast before there’s a tornado or an earthquake. Go 
’way, if you know what’s good for you.” 


CHAPTER XVIIL 


NO PEACE FOR SI AND SHORTY — THE YOUNGSTERS KEEP 
THEM BUSY WHILE THE TRAIN MOVES SOUTH. 

T he long fast had sharpened the zest the 
boys had for their first “soldier-breakfast.” 
Until they got down to “real soldier-living” 
they could not feel that they were actually in the 
service. To have this formal initiation in the his- 
toric city of Nashville, far in the interior of the 
Southern Confederacy, was an exhiliarating event. 
The coarse fare became viands of rare appetency. 

“Gracious, how good these beans taste,” mur- 
mured Harry Joslyn, calling for a second plateful; 
“never knowed beans to taste so good before. Won- 
der how they cook ’em? We’ll have to learn how, 
Gid, so’s to cook ’em for ourselves, and when we git 
back home won’t we astonish our mothers and 
sisters ?” 

“And sich coffee,” echoed Gid. “I’ll never drink 
cream in my coffee agin. I hadn’t no idee cream 
spiled coffee so. Why, this coffee’s the best stuff I 
ever drunk. Beats maple sap, or cider through a 
straw, all holler. That’s good enough for boys. 
This ’s what men and soldiers drink.” 

“You know those old gods and goddesses,” put in 
Montmorency Scruggs, a pale, studious boy, for 
shortness called “Monty,” and who had a great 
likeness for ancient history and expected to be a 
lawyer, “drunk what they called nectar. Maybe it 
was something like this.” 


NO PEACE FOR SI AND SHORTY. 


24B 


“But we haven't had any hardtack yet," com- 
plained Albert Russell, a youth somewhat finicky 
as to dress, and who had ambitions of becoming a 
doctor. “They’ve only given us baker’s bread, same 
as we got on the other side of the river, only better- 
tasting. Why don’t they give us real soldier bread ? 
I’ve heard Uncle Bob laugh at the 'soft-bread 
snoozers,’ who never got near enough the front to 
know the taste of hardtack.’’ 

“Well, I’m going to eat all I can of it while I 
can get it,’’ said little Pete Skidmore, the youngest 
and smallest of the lot, who had only passed the 
Mustering Officer by exhibiting such a vehement de- 
sire to enter the service as to make up for his 
probable lack of years and quite evident lack of 
inches. “I’ve heard Uncle Will say that he was 
always mighty glad to get back where he could get 
soft bread for a change, after he’d worn his grinders 
down to the quick chawing hardtack. It tastes 
awful good, anyway.’’ 

“The Government must pay big wages to the men 
it hires to do its cooking,’’ philosophized Harry 
Joslyn, “same as it does to its lawyers and Con- 
gressmen and Generals. No common men could 
cook grub that way. Mebbe it took the cooks away 
from the Astor House and Delmonico’s.’’ 

“The boys are certainly making up for lost time,’’ 
complacently remarked Shorty, as, having taken off 
the edge of his own hunger with a plateful of pork- 
and-beans and a half loaf of bread, he stopped for a 
moment to survey the havoc that his young charges, 
ranged at a long, rough counter, were making in the 
Commissary stores. “They’re eatin’ as if this was 


244 


SI KLEGG. 


the last square meal they expected to git till the 
rebellion’s put down.” 

“Yes,” laughed Si, emptying his second cup of 
coffee, “I used to think that we had appetites that’d 
browse a five-acre lot off clean every meal, but these 
kids kin distance us. If they live off the country 
its bones ’ll be picked mighty white when they pass. 
That lean, lank Gid Mackall seems to be as holler 
as a sassidge-skin. Even that wouldn’t give room 
for all that he’s stowin’ away.” 

“Harry Joslyn ’s runnin’ nose-and-nose with him. 
There ain’t the width o’ their forelocks difference. 
Harry’s yelled for more beans at the same second 
that Gid has. In fact, not one of ’em has lagged. 
They’re a great gang, I tell you, but I wouldn’t 
want to board any one of ’em for six bits a week.” 

Maj. Oglesvie came up. 

“Serg’t Klegg,” said he, “the Quartermaster says 
that he’s got a train load of ammunition to send 
forward, but he’s scarce of guards. I thought of 
your squad. Don’t you think you could take charge 
of it? I don’t imagine there is much need of a 
guard, for things have been pretty quiet down the 
road for some weeks. Still, it isn’t right to send off 
so important a train without any protection.” 

“Only be too glad of the dooty, sir,” answered Si, 
saluting. “It’ll give the boys something to think 
of besides hanging guerrillas. Besides, they’re just 
crazy to git hold o’ guns. Where kin I git muskets 
for ’em?” 

“March them right over to that shed there,” said 
the Major, “and the Quastermaster will issue them 
muskets and equipments, which you can turn over 


NO PEACE FOR .SI AND SHORTY. 


245 


again when you reach Chattanooga. Good-by.. I 
hope you’ll have a pleasant trip. Remember me to 
the boys of the old brigade and tell them I’ll be 
with them before they start out for Atlanta.” 

'Turty slouchy bizniss that, givin’ these kids guns 
before they’ve had any drill at all — don’t know even 
the facin’s, let alone the manual of arms,” remarked 
Shorty doubtfully, as they marched over to the shed. 
“They’ll be shooting holes through each others’ heads 
and the tops o’ the cars, and’ll waste more ammyni- 
tion than a six-mule team kin haul. They’ll make a 
regler Fourth o’ July from here to Chattynoogy.” 

“Don’t be worried about them boys,” Si reassured 
him. “Every one of ’em is used to handlin’ guns. 
Then, we kin keep the catridges ourselves and not 
issue any till they’re needed, which they mayn’t be.” 

The boys were in a buzz of delight at getting the 
guns they had so longed for, and Si’s first duty was 
to end an exuberant bayonet fencing match between 
Gid and Harry which was imitated all along the line. 

“Stop that,” he called. “Put your minds to 
learnin’ to load and shoot first. It’ll be some time 
before you git a chance to prod a rebel with a 
bayonet. Rebels are as wild as crows. You’ll be 
lucky to git as close to ’em as the other side of a 
40-acre field.” 

“But s’posin’ a rebel runs at you with his 
bayonet,” expostulated Harry Joslyn, “oughtn’t you 
to know how to ward him off and settle him?” 

“The best way’s to settle him jest as he comes over 
the hill, half-a-mile away, with an ounce o’ cold 
lead put where he lives. That’ll take the pint offen 
his bayonet mighty certainly.” 


246 


SI KLEGG. 


Si and Shorty showed the boys how to put on the 
belts carrying the cap- and cartridge-boxes, and gave 
them a little dumb-show instruction in loading and 
firing, ending with exhibiting to them a cartridge, 
and the method of tearing it with the teeth and 
putting it in the gun. 

“Now give us some catridges,” clamored the boys, 
“and let us do some real shooting.’^ 

“No,” said Si ; “we’ll keep the catridges ourselves, 
and issue them to you when the enemy comes in 
sight.” 

“Nice time to give out catridges then,” grumbled 
Harry Joslyn. “When we see the rebels we want to 
begin shootin’ instid o’ botherin’ you with questions. 
You wouldn’t kill many coons if you had to run 
back to the house for your powder and lead after 
you saw the coon before you could shoot him.” 

“Well, you can’t have no catridges now,” said Si 
decisively. “We’re not likely to see any coons before 
we git to Murfreesboro. Then we’ll see how things 
look further down the road. Take off your bayonets, 
all o’ you, and pile into them rear cars there. Stow 
yourselves around and be as comfortable as you 
kin.” 

The boys preferred the tops of the cars to the 
inside, and scattered themselves along the length 
of the train to view the war-worn country of which 
they had heard so much from their relatives who 
had campaigned there. Si settled himself down in 
the car to read the morning papers which he had 
gotten in Nashville, and Shorty, producing a pack 
of new cards, began a studious practice, with refer- 
ence to future operations in Chattanooga. 


NO PEACE FOR SI AND SHORTY. 


247 



“THERE WAS A CHORUS OF YELLS, AND THEN 
^ ' ' ANOTHER VOLLEY.” 


248 


SI KLEGG. 


The train was slowing down for the bridge near 
Lavergne, when there came a single shot, followed 
by a splutter of them and loud yells. 

Exceedingly startled, Si and Shorty sprang up, 
seized their guns, bounded to the door and looked 
out. They could see nothing to justify the alarm. 
There was not a rebel, mounted or unmounted, in 
sight. In the road below were two or three army 
teams dragging their slow way along, with their 
drivers yelling and laughing at a negro, whose mule 
was careering wildly across the fenceless field. The 
negro had been apparently jogging along, with a 
collection of plunder he had picked up in an aban- 
doned camp strung upon his mule, when the latter 
had become alarmed at the firing and scattered his 
burden in every dirfection. The rider was suc- 
ceeding in holding on by clinging desperately to the 
mule’s neck. 

Si set his gun down and clambered up the side 
of the car. 

“What’s all that shootin’ about?” he demanded of 
Harry Joslyn. 

“I didn’t mean it, sir,” Harry explained. “I was 
just aiming my gun at things I see along the road — 
just trying the sights like. A turkey-buzzard 
lighted on a stump out there, and I guess I must 
have forgot myself and cocked my gun, for it went 
off. Then Gid, seeing me miss, tried to show he 
was a better shot, and he banged away and missed, 
too, and then the other boys, they had to try their 
hands, and they belted away, one after another, 
and they all missed. I guess we didn’t count as we 
ougher’ve done on the goin’ forward o’ the train. 


NO PEACE FOR SI AND SHORTY. 


249 


because we all struck much nearer than we expected 
to that nigger on a mule, and scared his mule nigh 
out o’ his skin. We really didn’t intend no harm.” 

'‘Where did you git catridges?” demanded Si. 

“Why, that box that Alf Russell got was half full. 
He tried to keep ’em all hisself, and intended to 
shoot ’em off, one by one, to make the rest of us 
envious. Alf always was a pig in school, and never 
would divide his apples or doughnuts with the other 
boys. But we see them almost as quick as he did, 
an’ Gid and me set down on him suddently, as he 
was lying on the roof, and took away all his cat- 
ridges, and give ’em around to the rest o’ the boys, 
one a-piece.” 

“Are they all gone now?” 

“Yes, sir; every one shot away,’' answered Harry 
regretfully. 

Si looked through several of the boxes and at 
some of the guns to assure himself of this. He 
gave those near him a lecture on their offense, and 
then climbed down into the car and resumed his 
paper, while Shorty was soon immersed again in 
the abstruse study of the relation of the cross-barred 
designs on the back of the cards to the numbers 
and suits of their faces. 

They had passed Lavergne, and were approaching 
Stewart’s Creek, when another startling rattle of 
musketry broke out, this time from the forepart of 
the train. 

“Now, great Scott, what’s up?” said Si angrily, 
as he quickly surveyed the surrounding country. 
He saw that they were not attacked, and then 
clambered to the top of the car, where he noticed 


250 


SI KLEGG. 


little wreaths of powder-smoke lingering around the 
squad in which were Jim Humphreys, little Pete 
Skidmore and Wes. Brown. 

'‘What’re you young whelps shootin' for?'’ de- 
manded Si. They were all so abashed at his stern- 
ness that they could not find their tongues for reply, 
until little Pete piped up : 

“W’y, we’ve bin talkin’ to the train men, and they 
said they wuz shot at wunst, about a year ago, from 
that swamp back there, and we got some catridges 
from them, and we thought we saw something mov- 
ing in there, though Jim Humphreys said it wuz 
only burned stumps that we took for men, and them 
other boys back there had bin shootin’ off their guns 
and tryin’ ’em, and we thought we could too” 

“You little brats,” said Si; “didn’t you hear my 
orders about firin’ before we started? If another 
boy shoots without my orders I’ll tie him up by the 
thumbs! Got any more catridges? Give me every 
one of ’em.” 

The boys all protested that every cartridge was 
gone. Si assured himself of this by examination, 
savagely scored the train men for giving them am- 
munition and threatened trouble if any more was, 
and having relieved his mind returned to his paper 
in the caboose-car. 

The train ran on to a switch where there was 
another carrying a regiment going home on veteran 
furlough. Si and Shorty knew some of the men, 
and in the pleasure of meeting them and in hearing 
all the news from the front forgot that their boys 
were mingling with the others and being filled full 
of the preposterous stories with which veterans 


NO PEACE FOR SI AND SHORTY. 


251 


delight to stuff new recruits. Finally the whistles 
gave notice that the trains would move. Si got his 
boys back on the cars, and renewing his caution 
about taking care of themselves, holding on tightly 
and looking out for overhanging branches, returned 
with Shorty to their car and their occupations. 

‘‘We're cornin' to Stewart's Crick, Shorty," said 
Si, looking up from his paper. “Recollect that hill 
over there? That's where they had that battery 
that the Colonel thought we wuz goin' to git. 
Great Scott, the mud and briars in that old field!" 

“Yes," said Shorty, negligently, with his eyes fixed 
on the backs of the cards. “But that's ancient his- 
tory. Say, I've got these marks down fine at last. 
They're just as plain as A, B, C. You see, when 
that corner o' the square comes out clear to the edge 
it's clubs, every time, and there's just as many spots 
as there is of lines" 

He was interrupted by a volley, apparently from 
every gun on the roofs of the cars. Then a chorus 
of shrill, treble, boyish yells, and next instant an- 
other volley. The two sprang to the door and looked 
out. Not a sign of a rebel anywhere. Si went up 
one side of the car. Shorty the other. They ran 
along the tops of the cars, storming at the boys, 
kicking them and bumping their heads against the 
boards to make them stop. When they succeeded 
Si sternly ordered every one of them to leave the 
roofs and come down into the cars. When he had 
gathered them there he demanded: 

“Now, I want to know at once what this means?" 

Little Pete Skidmore again became the spokes- 
man of the abashed crowd; 


252 


SI KLEGG. 


“Why, them men back there on the switch cau- 
tioned us above all things not to let the rebels git 
the drop on us when we come to that crick; that 
we wouldn’t see nothin’ of ’em — nothin’ but a low 
bank, behind which they wuz hid, with their guns 
pokin’ through the brush, but the moment we see the 
bank breastwork throwed up along the crick we 
must let into it. That’s what it’s for. The rebels 
throwed it up to hide behind. Them men said that 
the brush back there was as full o’ rebels as a hound 
o’ fleas, and that we must let into ’em the moment 
we see the bank, or they’d git the drop on us. They 
had an awful time there theirselves, and they gave 
us all the catridges they had left for us to use.” 

“You little numbskulls,” said Si ; “why didn’t you 
come to use and tell us about this?” 

“They told us to be partickeler and say nothin’ to 
you. Your stayin’ back there in the car showed 
that you didn’t know nothin’ about it; you hadn’t 
bin down this way for a long time and wasn’t up 
to the latest improvements, and you wuz jest as like 
as not to run us into a hornets’ nest; that you 
wuzzent our real officers, anyway, and it didn’t much 
matter to you what happened to us.” 

“Our own sins are cornin’ back on us. Shorty,” 
remarked Si. “This is a judgment on you for the 
way you’ve filled up recruits at every chance you 
got.” 

“ ’Taint on me,” said Shorty, shrugging his 
shoulders. “I’m not in command. You are.” 

“I shall be mighty glad when we git this outfit to 
Chattanoogy,” sighed Si. “I’m gittin’ older every 
minute that I have ’em on my hands.” 


CHAPTER XIX. 


THE FIRST SCRAPE — A LITTLE INITIATORY SKIRMISH 
WITH THE GUERRILLAS. 

T he train passed Shelbyville in the course of 
the afternoon and halted on a switch. Tired 
of reading, Si was standing at the door of 
the car, looking out over the country and trying to 
identify places they had passed or camped at during 
the campaign of the previous Summer. Suddenly 
his far-seeing eyes became fixed on the intervals 
in the trees on the farthest hill-top. Without turn- 
ing his head he called Shorty in a tone which made 
that worthy lose all interest in his inevitable pack 
of cards and spring to his side. Without speaking. 
Si pointed to the sky-line of the eminence, against 
which moving figures sketched themselves. 
"'Guerrillas,'' said Shorty. 

Si nodded affirmatively. 

"Skeetin' acrost the country to jump this train 
or some other," continued Shorty. 

“This one, most likely," answered Si. 

“Yes," accorded Shorty, with an estimating glance 
at the direction of the range of hills, “and'll aim at 
strikin' us at some bridge or deep cut about 10 miles 
from here." 

“Where we'll probably git sometime after dark," 
assented Si. 

“Yes, Let's talk to the conductor and engineer." 


254 


SI KLEGG. 


The train had started in the meanwhile, but pres- 
ently the conductor came back into the caboose. He 
had been a soldier, but so severely wounded as to 
necessitate his discharge as incapable of further 
field service. 

'T hardly think there’s any danger,” said Con- 
ductor Madden. “Things ’ve been very quiet this 
side of the Tennessee River ever since last October, 
when Crook, Wilder and Minty belted the life out 
of old Joe Wheeler down there at Farmington and 
Rodgersville. Our cavalry gave theirs an awful 
mauling, and them that were lucky enough to escape 
acrost the river have seemed purty well satisfie:! 
to stay on that side. A hell’s mint of ’em were 
drowned trying to get acrost the river. Our cav- 
alry’s been patrolling the country ever since, but 
hasn’t seen anything of consequence. Still, it is 
possible that some gang has managed to sneak acrost 
a blind-ford somewhere, and in hopes to catch a 
train. Guerrillas are always where you find ’em.” 

“Well, I’ll bet a hatful o’ red apples,” said Si, 
“that them was guerrillas that we saw, and they’re 
makin’ for this train. The rebels in Nashville some- 
how got information to ’em about it.” 

“Them’s guerrillas,” affirmed Shorty, “sure’s the 
right bower takes the left. None o’ our cavalry’s 
stringin’ around over the hill-tops. Then, I made 
out some white horses, which our cavalry don’t have. 
It’s just as Si says, them Nashville spies ’s put the 
rebel cavalry onto us.” 

‘‘Them cowardly, sneaking, death-deserving rebels 
in Nashville,” broke out Conductor Madden, with a 
torrent of oaths, “Every man in Nashville that 


THE FIRST SCRAPE. 


255 


wears citizen’s clothes ought to be hung on sight, 
and half the women. They don’t do nothing but 
lay around and take the oath of allegiance, watch 
every move we make like a cat does a mouse, and 
send information through the lines. You can’t 
draw a ration of hardtack but they know it, and 
they’re looking down your throat while you’re eating 
it. They haint got the gravel in their craws to go 
out and fight themselves, and yet they’ve cost us a 
hundred times as many lives as if they had. Why 
does the General allow them to stay there? He 
ought to order rocks tied to the necks of every 
blasted one of ’em and fling ’em into the Cumber- 
land River and then pour turpentine on the infernal 
old town and touch a match to it. That’s what I’d 
do if I had my way. There’s more brimstone trou- 
ble to the acre in Nashville than in any town on the 
footstool, not barring even Richmond.” 

'‘Nashville certainly is tough,” sighed Shorty. 
“ ’Specially in gamblers. Worst tin-horn crowd that 
ever fumbled a deck or skinned a greeny out o’ 
the last cent o’ his bounty. Say, Si, do you remem- 
ber that tin-horny that I cleaned out o’ his whole 
pile down there at Murfreesboro, with them cards 
that I’d clipped with a pair o’ scissors, so’s I’d know 
’em by the feel, and he never ketched on till his last 
shinplaster w^as gone, and then I throwed the pack 
in the fire? Well, I seen him down there at the 
depot smellin’ around for suckers. I told him to 
let our boys alone or I’d snap his neck off short. 
Great Jehosephat, but I wanted a chance to git up 
town and give some o’ them cold-deckers a whirl.” 

“Well,” said Conductor Madden, after some de- 


256 


SI KLEGG. 


liberation, “I believe what you boys say. You’re 
not the kind to get rattled and make rebels out of 
cedar-bushes. All the same, there’s nothing to do 
but go ahead. My orders were to take this train 
through to Chattanooga as quick as I could. I can’t 
stop on a suspicion.” 

“No, indeed,” assented Si and Shorty. 

' “There’s no place to telegraph from till we get 
to Bridgeporit, on the Tennessee, and if we could 
telegraph they wouldn’t pay any attention to mere 
reports of having seen rebels at a distance. They 
want something more substantial than that.” 

“Of course they do, and very properly,” said Si. 
“Is your engineer all right?” 

“Game as they make ’em, and loyal as Abraham 
Lincoln himself,” responded the conductor. 

“Well, I believe our boys ’s all right. They’re 
green, and they’re friskier than colts in a clover 
field, but they’re all good stuff, and I believe we kin 
stand off any ordinary gang o’ guerrillas. I’ll 
chance it, anyhow. This’s a mighty valuable train 
to risk, but it ought to go through, for we don’t 
know how badly they may need it. You tell your 
engineer to go ahead carefully and give two long 
whistles if he sees anything dangerous.” 

“I’ll go and git onto the engine with him,” said 
Shorty. 

“Wait a little,” said Si. “We’ll get the boys to- 
gether, issue ’em catridges and give ’em a little 
preparation for a fight, if we’re to have one.” 

The sun had gone down and the night was at 
hand. The train had stopped to take on a supply 
of wood from a pile by the roadside. Some of the boys 


THE FIRST SCRAPE. 


257 


were helping pitch the heavy sticks onto the engine, 
the rest were skylarking along the tops of the cars 
in the irrepressible exuberance of animal spirits of 
boys who had had plenty to eat and were without 
a care in the world. Harry Joslyn had been giving 
exhibitions of standing on his head on the running- 
board. Gid Mackall had converted a piece of rope 
he had picked up into a lasso, and was trying to 
imitate the feats he had seen performed at the last 
circus. Monty Scruggs, the incipient lawyer, who 
was proud of his elocutionary talents, had vocifer- 
ated at the woods they were passing, “Rienzi’s Ad- 
dress to the Romans,'' “The Last Sigh of the Moor," 
“Absalom," “The Battle of Waterloo," and similar 
staples of Friday afternoon recitations. Alf Rus- 
sell, the embryonic doctor, who sang a fine tenor, 
was rendering “Lily Dale" with much impressment, 
and little Pete Skidmore was “skipping" the flat 
hill-stones over an adjacent pond. 

“ 'Tention !" shouted Si. 

There was something so different in the tone 
from that in which Si had before spoken, that it 
arrested the attention of every one of them instantly. 

“Git your guns and fall in two ranks on that sod, 
there, at once," commanded Si, in quick, curt 
accents. 

An impalpable something in the tones and words 
stilled everybody into seriousness. This was deep- 
ened by the look they saw on Si's face. 

They snatched up their guns and hurried into line 
on the spot indicated, looking into each other's 
countenances and into that of Si's for an explanation 
of what was up. 


258 


SI KLEGC. 


‘‘Mackall and Joslyn,” called Shorty from the car, 
“come here and take this box of catridges.” 

“Now,” said Si, as they did this, “Joslyn, you and 
Mackall issue those to the boys. One of you walk 
down in front and the other behind and give each 
man two packages of catridges. You boys open the 
packages and put the catridges in your catridge- 
boxes, bullet-end up, and the caps in your cap- 
boxes.” 

The boys followed his directions with nervous 
eagerness, inspired by his words and manner, and 
then fixed their anxious gaze upon him for further 
impartment. 

Si walked down in front, in the rear of the line, 
superintending the operation. 

“Now, boys,” said Si, taking his place in front 
and facing them, “you’ve bin talkin’ about guerrillas 
ever since we crossed the Ohio, but now there’s a 
prospect o’ meetin’ some. I hadn’t expected to see 
any till after we’d reached Chattanoogy, but guer- 
rillas’s never where you expect ’em.” 

“Knowin’ you was so anxious to see ’em, they’ve 
come up the road to meet you,” interjected Shorty. 

“It looks,” continued Si, “as if they’d got news 
of the train and slipped out here to take it away 
from us. They may attack it at any minute after 
we start agin. Now, we mustn’t let ’em git it. 
It’s too valuable to the Government to lose and too 
valuable to them to git. We mustn’t let ’em have 
it, I tell you. Now, I want you to load your guns 
carefully, handle ’em very carefully after they are 
loaded, git back in the cars, stop skylarkin’, keep 


THE FIRST SCRAPE. 


250 



WATCHING THE BRIDGE BURNERS AT WORK. 



260 


SI KLEGG. 


very quiet, listen for orders, and when you git 'em, 
obey ’em to the letter — no more, no less.” 

“Can’t we go back on top o’ the cars, where we 
kin watch for ’em, and git the first pop at ’em?” 
said Harry Joslyn, in a pleading tone. 

“No; that’s too dangerous, and you’ll lose time 
in gittin’ together,” answered Si. “You must all 
come into the cars with me.” 

“Sergeant,” said Shorty, “let me have a couple 
to go on the engine with me.” 

“Le’ me go. Le’ me go,” they all seemed to shout 
at once, holding up their hands in eager school-boy 
fashion. 

“I can’t take but two o’ you,” said Shorty; “more’d 
be in the way.” 

They all pressed forward. “Count out. That’s 
the only fair way,” shouted the boys in the center. 

“That’s so,” said Harry Joslyn. “Stand still till 
I count. Imry, Ory, Ickery, Ann, Quevy, Quavy, 
Irish Navy, Filleson, Folleson, Nicholas — Buck! 
That’s me. I’m it!” 

He rapidly repeated the magic formula, and pro- 
nounced Gid Mackall “it.” 

“He didn’t count fair ! He didn’t count fair ! He 
never counts fair,” protested the others; but Si 
hustled them into the cars and the train started. 

It had grown quite dark. The boys sat silent and 
anxiously expectant on their seats, clutching their 
loaded guns, held stiffly upright, and watching Si’s 
face as well as they could by the dim light of the 
single oil lamp. Si leaned against the side of the 
door and watched intently. 

Only little Pete Skidmore was unrepressed by the 


THE FIRST SCRAPE. 


261 


gravity of the situation. Rather, it seemed to spur 
his feet, his hands and his mouth to nimbler activity. 
He was everywhere — at one moment by Si's side in 
the door of the car, at the next climbing up to peer 
out of the window; and then clambering to the top 
of the car, seeing legions of guerrillas in the bushes, 
until sternly ordered back by Si. Then he would 
drop the butt of his musket on the floor with a 
crash which would start every one of the taut nerves 
to throbbing. And the questions that he asked: 

“Say, Sergeant, will the guerrillas holler before 
they shoot, or shoot before they holler?" 

“Sometimes one and sometimes the other," re- 
sponded Si, absently. “Keep quiet, Pete." 

Quiet for a minute, and then : 

“Shall we holler before we shoot or shoot before 
we holler ?" 

“Neither. Keep perfectly quiet, and 'tend strictly 
to your little business." 

“I think we ought to holler some. Makes it 
livelier. What sort o' guns has the guerrillas?" 

“Every kind — shot-guns, pistols, rifles, flint-locks, 
cap-locks — every kind. Now, you mustn't ask me 
any more questions. Don't bother me." 

“Yes, sir; I won't." 

Quiet for at least five seconds. Then: 

“Have the guerrillas guns that'll shoot through 
the sides of the cars?" 

“Probably." 

“Then I'd ruther be on top, where I kin see some- 
thing. Kin they shoot through the sides o' the 
tender, and let all the water out and stop the 
engine?" 


262 


SI KLEGG. 


‘‘Guess not.” 

“Haven’t they any real big guns that will?” 

“Mebbe.” 

“Kin we plug up the holes, anyway, then, ani 
start agin?” 

“Probably.” 

“Hain’t the engineer got an iron shield that he 
kin git behind, so they can’t shoot him ?” 

“Can’t he turn the steam onto ’em, and scald ’em 
if they try to git at him?” 

“What’ll happen if they shoot the head-light out?” 

“Why wouldn’t it be a good idee to put a lot o’ 
us on the cow-ketcher, with fixed bayonets, and then 
let the engineer crack on a full head o’ steam and 
run us right into ’em?” 

“Great Scott, Pete, you must stop askin’ ques- 
tions,” said Si desperately. “Don’t you see I’m 
busy?” 

Pete was silent for another minute. Then he 
could hold in no longer: 

“Sergeant, jest one question more, and then I’ll 
keep quiet.” 

“Well, what is it?” 

“If the rebels shoot the bell, won’t it make a noise 
that they kin hear clear back at Nashville?” 

The engine suddenly stopped, and gave two long 
whistles. Above the screech they heard shots from 
Shorty and the two boys with him. 

“Here they are, boys,” said Si, springing out and 
running up the bank. “All out, boys. Come up 
here and form.” 

As he reached the top of the bank a yell and a 
volley came from the other side of the creek. 


THE FIRST SCRAPE. 


263 


Shorty joined him at once, bringing the two boys 
on the engine with him. 

'‘We've bin runnin' through this deep cut," he 
explained, “and jest come out onto the approach to 
the bridge, when we see a little fire away ahead, and 
the head-light showed some men runnin' down on 
to the bank on the other side o' the crick. We see 
in a moment what was up. They've jest got to the 
road and started a fire on the bridge that's about 
a mile ahead. Their game was to burn that bridge, 
and when this train stopped, burn this one behind 
us, ketch us, whip us, and take the train. We shot 
at the men we see on the bank, but probably didn't 
do 'em no harm. They're all pilin' down now to 
the other bank to whip us out and git the train. 
You'd better deploy the boys along the top o' the 
bank here and open on 'em. We can't save that 
bridge, but we kin this and the train, by keepin' 
'em on the other side o' the crick. I'll take charge 
o' the p'int here with two or three boys, and drive 
off any o' them that tries to set fire to the bridge, 
and you kin look out for the rest o' the line. It's 
goin' to be longtaw work, for you see the crick's 
purty wide, but our guns 'll carry further'n theirs, 
and if we keep the boys well in hand I think we kin 
stand 'em off without much trouble." 

“Sure," said Si confidently. “You watch the other 
side o' the bridge and I'll look out for the rest." 

The eager boys had already begun firing, enter- 
ing into the spirit of the thing vnth the zest of a 
p-ame of town-ball. Shorty took Gid Mackall and 
Farry Joslyn down to the cover of some large stones, 
behind which they could lie and command the ap- 


264 


SI KLEGG. 


proacli to the other end of the bridge with their 
rifles. Si took the other boys and placed them be- 
hind rocks and stumps along the crest and instructed 
them to fire with as good aim as possible at the 
flashes from the other side. In a minute or two 
he had a fine skirmish-line in operation, with the 
boys firing as deliberately and accurately as vet- 
erans. The engineer had backed the train under the 
cover of the cut, and presently he and the conductor 
came up with guns and joined the firing-line. 

‘T say. Shorty,” said Si, coming down to where 
that worthy was stationed, “what d' you think o' 
the boys now? They take to this like a duck to 
water. They think it's more fun than squirrel- 
huntin'. Listen.” 

They heard Monty Scruggs's baritone call: 

“Say, Alf, did you see me salt that feller that's 
bin yellin' and cussin' at me over there? He's 
cussin' now for something else. I think I got him 
right where he lived.” 

“I wasn't paying any attention to you,” Alf's 
fine tenor replied, as his rammer rang in his barrel. 
“I’ve got business o' my own to 'tend to. There’s 
a feller over there that’s firing buckshot at me that 
I’ve got to settle, and here goes.” 

“The 200th Injianny Volunteers couldn’t put up a 
purtier skirmish than this,” murmured Si, in accents 
of pride, as he raised his gun and fired at a series of 
flashes on the farther bank. 

“I say, tell that engineer to uncouple his engine 
and bring it back up here where the head-light’ll 
cover the other side,” said Shorty. “It’ll make the 


THE FIRST SCRAPE. 


265 


other side as light as day and we kin see every move, 
while we'll be in the dark." 

''Good idee," said Si, hastening to find the 
engineer. 

He was none too soon. As the engine rolled up, 
flooding its advance with light, it brought a storm 
of bullets from the other side, but revealed three 
men creeping toward the other end of the bridge. 
Two were carrying pine knots, and the third, walk- 
ing behind, had a stick of blazing pine, which he 
was trying to shield from observation with his hat. 

"Take the front man, Harry. Take the second 
one, Gid. I’ll take the man with the light," com- 
manded Shorty. 

The three rifles cracked in quick succession and 
the three men dropped. 

"Bully, boys," ejaculated Shorty, as he reloaded. 
"You’ll do. The 200th Injianny’s proud o’ you." 

"I hit my man in the leg," said Harry, flushing 
with delight, as he bit olf another cartridge. "Jeru- 
salem, I wish they’d send another one down." 

"I drawed on my man’s bundle o’ wood," said Gid, 
"and then dropped a little, so’s to git him where he 
was biggest and make sure o’ him." 

"Well, my man’s beauty’s spiled forever," said 
Shorty. "The light flared up on his face and I let 
him have it there." 

"But Linden saw another light. 

When beat the drums at dead of night. 
Commanding fires of death to light 
The darkness of her scenery," 

recited Monty Scruggs. "Gracious, I’m hit!" 


266 


SI KLEGG. 


“Where?” asked Si, running up to him. 

“Through my leg,” answered Monty. 

“Kin you walk?” 

“I guess so.” 

“Well, make your way back to the cars and git 
in and lay down.” 

“Not much,” answered Monty determinedly. “It 
don’t hurt much, and Fm going to stay and see this 
thing out. I can tie it up with my handkerchief.” 

“Scatter again, boys,” Si warned several, who had 
rushed up; “don’t make too big a mark for the 
fellers on the other side. Go back and ’tend to your 
bizniss. I’ll help him tie up his wound. I’m 
afeared, though, that some o’ the boys are runnin’ 
out o’ catridges, they have bin shootin’ so rapidly. 
I want a couple o’ you to run back to the cars and 
git another box.” 

“Let me and Sandy go,” pleaded little Pete Skid- 
more. “The big boys went before.” 

“All right; skip out. Break the lid o’ the box off 
before you take it out o’ the car. We haven’t any- 
thing here to do it with. Leave your guns here.” 

*^No, we’ll take ’em along,” pleaded Pete, with a 
boyish love for his rifle. “We mightn’t be able to 
And ’em agin.” 

The firing from the opposite bank became fitful, 
died down, and then ceased altogether. Then a 
couple of shots rang out from far in the rear in 
the direction of the train. This seemed to rouse the 
rebels to another volley, and then all became quiet. 
The shots in the rear disturbed Si, who started back 
to see what they meant, but met Pete Skidmore and 


THE FIRST ESCAPE. 


267 


Sandy Baker coming panting up, carrying a box of 
cartridges between them. 

*'We got back as quick as we could,” Pete ex- 
plained as he got his breath. “Just as we was 
coming to the train we see a rebel who was carrying 
a fat-pine torch, and making for the train to set it 
on fire. We shot him. Was that all right?” 

“Perfectly,” said Si. “Was there any more with 
him ?” 

“No. We looked around for others, but couldn't 
find none. That's what kept up so long.” 

“The Johnnies have given it up and gone,” said 
Shorty, coming up. “I went over to a place where 
I could see 'em skippin' out by the light o' the 
burnin' o' the other bridge. We might as well put 
out guards here and go into camp till mornin'.” 

“All right,” assented Si. “We've saved the train 
and bridge, and that's all we kin do.” 


CHAPTER XX. 


AFTER THE SKIRMISH — WILD SHOOTING WAS ALL 
THAT SAVED A SURPRISED COLORED MAN. 

T hough si and shorty were certain that the 
trouble was over and the rebels all gone, it 
was impossible to convince the boys of this. 
The sudden appearance of the guerrillas had been 
so mysterious that they could not rid themselves of 
the idea that the dark depths beyond the creek were 
yet filled with vicious foemen animated by dire 
intents. 

Si and Shorty gathered the boys together on the 
bank above the railroad cut, had fires built, posted 
a few guards, and ordered the rest of the boys to 
lie down and go to sleep. They set the example by 
unrolling their own blankets at the foot of a little 
jack-oat, whose thickly-growing branches, still bear- 
ing a full burden of rusty-brown leaves, made an 
excellent substitute for a tent. 

“Crawl in. Si, and git some sleep,” said Shorty, 
filling his pipe. “Fll take a smoke and set up for 
an hour or two. If it looks worth while then, Fll 
wake you up and let you take a trick o^ keepin’ 
awake. But if everything looks all right Fll jest 
crawl in beside you and start a snorin'-match.” 

But neither orders nor example could calm down 
the nerves of boys who had just had their first 
experience under fire. There was as little rest for 


AFTER THE SKIRMISH. 


269 


them as for a nest of hornets which had been rudely 
shaken. They lay down at Si’s order, but the next 
minute they were buzzing together in groups about 
the fires, or out with their guns to vantage points 
on the bank, looking for more enemies. Their ex- 
cited imaginations made the opposite bank of the 
creek alive with men, moving in masses, squads and 
singly, with the sounds of footsteps, harsh com- 
mands, and of portentous movements. 

Two or three times Shorty repressed them and 
sharply ordered them to lie down and go to sleep. 
Then he decided to let them wear themselves out, 
braced his back against a sapling near the fire, 
pulled out from his pocket the piece of Maria’s 
dress, and became lost in a swarm of thoughts that 
traveled north of the Ohio River. 

•He was recalled by Harry Joslyn and Gid Mackall 
appearing before him. 

'‘Say, Corpril,” inquired Harry, “what’s to be 
done with them rebels over there at the end o’ the 
bridge ?” 

“Them that we shot?” said Shorty carelessly, 
feeling around for his tobacco to refill his pipe. 
“Nothin’. I guess we’ve done enough for ’em al- 
ready.” 

“Don’t we do nothin’ more?” repeated Harry. 

“No,” answered Shorty, as he rubbed the whit- 
tlings from his plug to powder in the hollow of his 
hand. 

“Just plug at ’em as you would at a crow, and 
then go on your way whistlin’?” persisted Harry. 

“Certainly,” answered Shorty, filling his pipe and 


270 


SI KLEGG. 


looking around for a sliver with which to light it. 
“What’re you thinkin’ about?'’ 

'‘I don’t hardly know,” hesitated Harry. “It 
seems awful strange just to blaze away at men and 
then pay no more attention to ’em. They mayn’t 
be knocked out at all — only ’possumin’ ” 

“No ’possumin’ about them fellers,” said Shorty 
sententiously, as he lighted his pipe. “Feller that 
gits an ounce o’ lead from a Springfield rifle any- 
where in his carkiss don’t play off nor purtend. 
He’s got something real to occupy his attention, if 
he’s got any attention left to occupy. You needn’t 
bother any more about them fellers over there. 
Their names’s mud. They’re now only part o’ the 
real estate on the other side o’ the crick. They’re 
suddently become no good for poll-tax; only to be 
assessed by the acre.” 

“So you’re sure they can’t do more harm to the 
bridge?” 

“No more’n the dead leaves on the banks.” 

“But I thought,” persisted Harry, “that when a 
man’s killed something had to be done — coroner’s 
inquest, corpse got ready, funeral, preacher, neigh- 
bors gather in, and so on.” 

“Well, you needn’t bother about any obsequies to 
them fellers over there,” said Shorty, sententiously, 
as he pulled away at his pipe. “You done your 
whole share when you done the heavy work o’ pro- 
vidin’ the corpses. Let anybody that wants to put 
on any frills about plantin’ ’em. If we have time 
tomorrow mornin’ and nothin’ better to do, we may 
go over there and dig holes and put ’em in. But 


AFTER THE SKIRMISH. 


271 


most likely we'll be needed to rebuild that bridge 
they burnt. I'd rather do that, so's we kin hurry 
on to Chattynoogy. Buzzards'll probably be their 
undertakers. They've got a contract from the South- 
ern Confedrisy for all that work. You lay down 
and go to sleep. That's the first dooty of a soldier. 
You don't know what may be wanted o' you tomor- 
row, and you should git yourselves in shape for any- 
thing — fightin', marchin' or workin'." 

“And sha'n't we do nothin' neither to that man 
that we shot when he was tryin' to set fire to the 
train?" asked little Pete Skidmore, who with Sandy 
Baker had come up and listened to Shorty's lecture. 
“He's still layin' out there where he dropped, awful 
still. Me and Sandy took a piece o' fat pine and 
went down and looked at him. We didn't go very 
close. We didn't like to. He seemed so awful quiet 
and still." 

“No; you let him alone," snapped Shorty impa- 
tiently. “He'll keep. Lay down and git some sleep, 
I tell you. What need you bother about a dead 
rebel? He ain't makin' no trouble. It's the livin' 
ones that need lookin' out for." 

The boys' looks showed that they were face to 
face with one of the incomprehensibilities of war. 
But they lay down and tried to go to sleep, and 
Shorty's thoughts returned to Indiana. 

A shot rang out from the post on which he had 
stationed Jim Humphreys. He was on his feet in 
an instant, with his gun in hand, and in the next Si 
was beside him. 

“What's up?" inquired Si, rubbing his eyes. 


272 


SI KLEGG. 


“Nothin’, I believe,” answered Shorty. “But hold 
the boys and I’ll go out and see.” 

He strode forward to Jim’s side and demanded 
what he had shot at. 

“I saw some men tryin’ to cross the crick there,” 
replied Jim, pointing with his rammer in the direc- 
tion of the opposite bank. 

“There, you kin see ’em for yourself.” 

“I don’t see no men,” said Shorty, after a mo- 
ment’s scrutiny. 

“There they are. Don’t you see that white 
there?” said Jim, capping his musket for another 
shot. 

“That white,” said Shorty contemptously, “is some 
water-birches. They was there when you came on 
guard, for I noticed ’em, and they hain’t moved 
since. You seen ’em then, lookin’ just as they do 
now. You’re a fool to think you kin see anything 
white in a rebel. ’Taint their color.” 

“I don’t care,” half whimpered Jim. “Gid 
Mackall, and Harry Joslyn, and Alf Russell, and 
Pete Skidmore, and even Sandy Baker, have all shot 
rebels, and I hain’t hit none. I don’t have half-a- 
show.” 

“Be patient,” Shorty consoled him. “Your three 
years’s only begun. You’ll have lots o’ chances yit. 
But if I ketch you shootin’ at any more white birches 
I’ll tie you up by the thumbs.” 

Shorty returned to the fire. Si bade the boys lie 
down again, and took his own blanket. Shorty re- 
lighted his pipe, took out his never-failing deck of 
cards and began running them over. 


AFTER THE SKIRMISH. 


273 



WILD SHOOTING OF THE BOYS SAVES THE SURPRISED 
COLORED MAN. 


274 


SI KLEGG. 


Jim Humphreys’s shot had given new restlessness 
to the boys. They did not at all believe in Shorty’s 
diagnosis of the situation. There must be more men 
lurking over there whence all that murderous shoot- 
ing had come only a little while ago. Jim Hum- 
phreys was more than probably right. One after 
another of them quietly slipped away from the fire 
with his gun and made his way down to Jim Hum- 
phreys’s post, which commanded what seemed to 
be a crossing of the creek. They stood there and 
scanned the opposite bank of darkness with tense 
expectancy. They had their ears tuned up to re- 
spond to even the rustle of the brown, dry leaves on 
the trees and the murmur of the creek over the 
stones. They even saw the white birches move 
around from place to place and approach the water, 
but Shorty’s dire threat prevented their firing until 
they got something more substantial. 

‘‘There’s rebels over there, sure as you’re born,” 
murmured Jim to them, without turning his head 
to relax his fixed gaze nor taking his finger from 
the trigger of his cocked gun. “Wish they’d fire a 
gun first to convince that old terror of a Corpril, 
who thinks he kin tell where rebels is just by the 
smell. I’d” 

“Sh! Jim, I hear a boss’s hoofs,” said Harry 
Joslyn. 

“Sh! so do I,” echoed Gid Mackall. 

They all listened with painful eagerness. 

“Hoss’s hoofs and breakin’ limbs, sure’s you're a 
foot high,” whispered Harry. “And they’re cornin’ 
down the hill this way.” 


AFTER THE SKIRMISH. 


275 


^'That’s right. They're a’most to the crick now," 
assented Gid. “Fm going to shoot." 

“No ; Fve got the right to a first shot," said Jim. 
“You fellers hold off." 

Bang went Jim's gun, followed almost instantly 
by the others. 

“Hi, dere, boys; Fs done found you at las'! 
Whoopee I" called out a cheery voice from across the 
creek, and a man rode boldly down to the water's 
edge, where the boys were nervously reloading. 

“Now, Jim Humphreys, what in blazes are you 
bangin' away at now?" angrily demanded Si, strid- 
ing up. “At a cotton-tailed rabbit or a sycamore 
stump?" 

“The woods is full o' rebel cavalry cornin' acrost 
the crick," gasped Jim, as he rammed down his 
cartridge. “There, you kin see 'em for yourself." 

“What foh you come dis-a-way, boys?" continued 
the voice of the man on horseback. “I done los' 
you. I fought we done agreed to go ober by Simp- 
son's hill, an' I jine you dar. I went dat-a-way, an' 
den I hear you shootin' ober dis-a-way, an' seed yoh 
fiah, and I cut acrost to git to you. W'hah'd you git 
so many guns, an' sich big ones? Sound like sojer 
guns. I done beared dem way ober dah, an' F' 

“Hold on, boys," sternly shouted Shorty, spring- 
ing in front of them and throwing up their guns. 
“Don't one o' you dare shoot! Hold up, I say! 
Hello, you there! Who are you?" 

“Who's me?" said the negro, astonished by the 
strange voice. “Fs Majah Wilkinson's Sam, Massa 
Patrol. Fs got a pass all right. De old Majah done 


276 


SI KLEGG. 


tole me I could go out coon-huntin^ wid Kunnel 
Oberly’s boys tonight, but I done missed dem.” 

“Come ashore here, boy,” commanded Shorty, 
“and be thankful that you’re alive. You’ve had a 
mighty narrow squeak of it. Next time you go out 
coon huntin’ be sure there’s no Yankee and rebel 
soldiers huntin’ one another in the neighborhood. 
Coons have a tough time then.” 

“Yankee sojers!” gasped the negro, as he was 
led back to the fire, and saw the blue uniforms. 
“Lawdy, massy, don’t kill me. I pray, sah, don’t. 
I hain’t done nuflfin. Sho’ I hain’t. Massa said you’d 
burn me alibe if you eber cotched me, but you won’t, 
will you?” 

“We ain’t goin’ to hurt you,” said Shorty. “Sit 
down there by the fire and git the goose-flesh offen 
you.” Then turning to the boys he remarked sar- 
castically : 

“Fine lot o’ marksmen you are, for a fact. Half- 
a dozen o’ you bangin’ away at a hundred yards, 
and not cornin’ close enough to a nigger to let him 
know you was shootin’ at him. Now will you lay 
down and go to sleep? Here, Si, you take charge o’ 
this gang and let me go to sleep. I’ve had enough 
o’ them for one night.” 

During the night a train came up, carrying a regi- 
ment of entirely new troops. In the morning these 
scattered over the ground, scanning everything with 
the greatest interest and drinking in every detail 
of the thrilling events of the previous night. 

“It’s just killin’,” said Si to Shorty, “to watch 
the veteran airs our boys are puttin’ on over those 
new fellers. You’d think they’d fit in every battle 


AFTER THE SKIRMISH. 


277 


since Bunker Hill, and learned Gen. Grant all he 
knows about tactics. Talk about the way the old 
fellers used to fill us up, why, these boys lay away 
over everything we ever knowed. I overheard 
Harry Joslyn laying it into about 40 of them. ‘No 
man knows just what his feelin's will be under fire 
until he has the actual experience,’ says he. ‘Now, 
the first time I heard a rebel bullet whistle,’ and his 
face took on a look as if he was trying to recollect 
something years ago.” 

“Yes,” laughed Shorty, “and you should hear little 
Pete Skidmore and Sandy Baker lecturing them 
greenies as to the need o’ lookin’ carefully to their 
rear and beware o’ rebels sneakin’ ’round and at- 
tackin’ their trains. Hold on. Look through this 
brush. There’s Monty Scruggs explainin’ the plan 
o’ battle to a crowd of ’em. He don’t know we’re 
anywhere around. Listen and you’ll hear some- 
thing.” 

“The enemy had reached the ground in advance 
of us,” Monty was elucidating, in language with 
which his school histories and the daily papers had 
familiarized him, “and had strongly posted himself 
along those hights, occupying a position of great 
natural strength, including their own natural cus- 
sedness. Their numbers was greatly superior to 
ours, and they had prepared a cunning trap for us, 
which we only escaped by the vigilance of Corpril 
Elliott and the generalship of Serg’t Klegg. I tell 
you, those men are a dandy team when it comes to 
running a battle. They know their little biz, and 
don’t you forget it for a minute. The enemy opened 
a galling fire, when Corpril Elliott gallantly ad- 


278 


SI KLEGG. 


vanced to that point there and responded, while 
Serg’t Klegg rapidly arrayed his men along there, 
and the battle became terrific. It was like the 
poet says : 

“ Then shook the hills with thunder riven. 
Then rushed the steeds to battle driven. 

And louder than the bolts of heaven. 

Far flashed the red artillery.’ ” 

'‘0, come off, Monty,” called the more prosaic Gid 
Mackall ; “you know we didn’t have no artillery. If 
we’d had, we’d a blowed ’em clean offen the hill.” 

The whistle summoned them to get aboard and 
move on. 


CHAPTER XXL 


CHATTANOOGA AT LAST — LOST IN A MAZE OF 
RAILROAD TRAINS. 

44XT7HAT’S the program?'’ Si inquired of 
the conductor, as the boys were being 
formed on the bank, preparatory to 
entering the cars. 'T s'pose it's to go over there 
and put in a week o' hard work rebuildin' that 
bridge. Have you got any axes and saws on the 
train? How long is the blamed old bridge, any- 
way?” 

“Not much it ain't,” responded the conductor. 

' “If you think the army's goin’ to wait a week, or 
even a day, on a bridge, you’re simply not up to 
date, that's all. The old Buell and Rosecrans way 
o' doin' things is played out since Sherman took 
command. Your Uncle Billy’s a hustler, and don’t 
let that escape your mind for a minute, or it’ll likely 
lead you into trouble. You'll find when you get 
down to Chattynoogy that nobody’s asleep in day- 
light, or for a good part o' the night. They're not 
only wide-awake, but on the keen jump. The old 
man kin see four ways at once, he's always where 
he ain't expected, and after everybody with a sharp 
stick. In Buell's time a burnt bridge 50 foot long 
'd stopped us for two weeks. Now that bridge 'll 
likely be finished by the time we git there. I've 
just been over there, and they were layin' the 
stringers.” 


280 


SI KLEGG. 


“Why, how in the world did they manage?” 
asked Si. 

“0, Sherman’s first move was to order down here 
duplicates for every bridge on the road. He’s got 
’em piled up at Louisville, Nashville, Murfreesboro 
and Chattynoogy. The moment a bridge is reported 
burned a gang starts for the place with another 
bridge, and they’re at work as soon’s it’s cool 
enough to let ’em get to the abutments. I’ve seen 
’em pullin’ away the burnin’ timbers to lay new ones. 
They knowed at Chattynoogy as soon’s we did that 
the bridge was burned. The operator at the next 
station must ’ve seen it and telegraphed the news, 
and they started a bridge-gang right out. I tell you, 
double-quick’s the time around where old Cump 
Sherman is.” 

“Duplicate bridges,” gasped Si. “Well, that is 
an idee.” 

“What does he mean by duplicate, Corpril?” asked 
Harry Joslyn to Shorty. 

“0, duplicate’s something that you ring in on a 
feller like a cold deck.” 

“I don’t understand,” said Harry. 

“Why — hem— hem — duplicate’s the new-fangled 
college word for anything that you have up your 
sleeve to flatten a feller when he thinks he’s got 
you euchered. You want to deal the other feller 
only left bowers and keep the right bowers for 
yourself. Them’s duplicates. If you give him aces, 
have the jokers handy for when you want ’em. 
Them’s duplicates. Duplicates ’s Sherman’s great 
lay — learned it from his old side-partner. Uncondi- 
tional Surrender Grant — ^just as strategy was old 


CHATTANOOGA AT LAST. 


281 


McClellan’s. There’s this difference: Sherman al- 
ways stacks the deck to win himself, while McClellan 
used to shuffle the cards for the other feller to win.” 

“Still I don’t understand about the duplicate 
bridges,” persisted Harry. 

“Why, old Sherman just plays doublets on the 
rebels. He leads a king at ’em and then plumps 
down an ace, and after that the left and right 
bowers. They burn one bridge and he plumps down 
a better one instead. They blow up a tunnel and he 
just hauls it out and sticks a bigger one in its place. 
Great head, that Sherman. Knows almost as much 
as old Abe Lincoln himself.’^ 

“Do you say that Sherman has extra tunnels, too, 
to put in whenever one is needed?” asked Harry, 
with opening eyes. 

“0, cert,” replied Shorty carelessly. “You seen 
that big iron buildin’ we went into to git on the cars 
at Louisville? That was really a tunnel, all ready 
to be shoved out on the road when it was needed. 
If you hadn’t bin so keen on the lookout for guer- 
rillas as we come along you’d ’a’ seen pieces o’ 
tunnels layin’ all along the road ready for use.” 

As the train dashed confidently over the newly- 
completed bridge the boys gazed with intense inter- 
est and astonishment at the still smoldering wreck- 
age, which had been dragged out of the way to admit 
the erection of the new structure. It was one of the 
wonders of the new, strange life upon which they 
were entering. 

The marvelous impressiveness and beauty of the 
scenery as they approached Chattanooga fascinated 
the boys, who had never seen anything more re- 


28 ^ 


SI KLEGG. 


markable than the low, rounded hills of Southern 
Indiana. 

The towering mountains, reaching up toward the 
clouds, or even above them, their summits crowned 
with castellated rocks looking like impregnable 
strongholds, the sheer, beetling cliffs, marking where 
the swift, clear current of the winding Tennessee 
River had cut its way through the granite walls, all 
had a deep fascination for them. Then, everywhere 
were strong intrenchments and frowning forts, 
guarding the crossings of the river or the passages 
through the mountains. There were populous vil- 
lages of log huts, some with canvas roofs, some 
roofed with clapboards, some with boards purloined 
from the Quartermaster’s stores. These were the 
Winter quarters of the garrisons of the fortifica- 
tions. Everywhere men were marching to and fro, 
and long trains of army wagons struggling through 
the mud of the valleys and up the steep hillsides. 

‘‘My, what lots o’ men,” gasped Harry Joslyn. 
“We won’t be once among sich a crowd. Wonder 
if Sergeant Klegg and Corpril Elliott kin keep us 
from bein’ lost?” 

“Trust Corpril Elliott,” said Gid, returning to his 
old partisanship of the taller veteran. “He knows 
his business every time.” 

“Not any better’n Sergeant Klegg,” responded 
Harry, taking up the gantlet for his favorite. 
“Long-legged men are very good in their way, but 
they don’t have the brains that shorter men have. 
Nature don’t give no man everything. What sho 
gives to his legs she takes off his head, my dad says.” 


CHATTANOOGA AT LAST. 


283 


‘That’s just because you’re a duck-legged snipe,” 
answered Gid wrathfully. “Do you mean to” 

“Don’t make any slurs at me, you spindle-legged 
sand-hill crane,” retorted Harry. 

This was enough. Blows came next. It was their 
way. Gid Mackall and Harry Joslyn had been in- 
separable companions since they had begun going 
to school, and they had scarcely ever let a day pass 
without a fight. The moment that Si and Shorty 
appeared within their horizon they had raised the 
issue of which was the best soldier, and made it a 
matter of lively partisanship. 

Si and Shorty had been on the eager lookout for 
the indications of the position of the army, for places 
that they could recognize, and for regiments, bri- 
gades and divisions they were acquainted with, so 
they did not at first notice the squabble. Then they 
pulled the boys asunder, shook them and scolded 
them for their conduct. 

New emotions filled Si’s and Shorty’s breasts. 
They had been away from their regiment so long 
that they were acutely homesick to be back to it. 
Such is the magic of military discipline and associa- 
tion that their regimental flag had become the center 
of their universe, and the real people of their world 
the men who gathered around it. Everything and 
everybody else was subsidiary to that thing of won- 
derful sacredness — “the regiment.” They felt like 
wanderers who had been away for years, and were 
now returning to their proper home, friends, as- 
sociations and vocation. Once more under the Flag 
life would become again what it should be, with 
proper objects of daily interest and the satisfactory 


284 


SI KLEGG. 


performance of every-day duties. They really be- 
longed in the regiment, and everywhere else were 
interlopers, sojourners, strangers in a strange land. 
They now sat together and talked of the regiment 
as they had formerly sat around the campfire with 
the other boys and talked of their far-away homes, 
their fathers and mothers, brothers and sisters and 
sweethearts. 

They had last seen their regiment in the fierce 
charge from the crest of Snodgrass Hill. The burn- 
ing questions were who had survived that terrible 
day? Who had been so badly wounded as to lose 
his place on the rolls? Who commanded the regi- 
ment and the companies? Who filled the non-com- 
missioned offices? What voices that once rang out 
in command on the drill-ground, in camp and battle, 
were now silent, and whose would be lifted instead? 

“Fm af eared the old rijimint will never fight agin 
as it did at Stone River and Chickamauga,'' said Si 
mournfully. “Too many good men gone what made 
the rijimint what it is.” 

“Well, I don’t know about that,” said Shorty more 
hopefully. “They got two mighty good non-com- 
mish when they promoted me and you. If they done 
as well in the rest o’ the promotions, the rijimint 
is all right. Lord knows I’d willingly give up my 
stripes to poor Jim Sanders, if he could come back; 
but I guess I kin yank around a squad as well as 
he done. This infant class that we’re takin’ down 
there ain’t up to some o’ the boys that’ve turned up 
their toes, but they average mighty well, and after 
we git some o’ the coltishness drilled out o’ ’em 
they’ll be a credit to the rijimint.” 


CHATTANOOGA AT LAST. 


285 


The train finally halted on a side-track in the 
outskirts of Chattanooga, under the gigantic shadow 
of Lookout Mountain, and in the midst of an ocean 
of turmoiling activity that made the eyes ache to 
look upon it, and awed every one, even Si and 
Shorty, with a sense of incomprehensible immensity. 
As far as they could see, in every direction, were 
camps, forts, intrenchments, flags, hordes of men, 
trains of wagons, herds of cattle, innumerable 
horses, countless mules, mountains of boxes, barrels 
and bales. Immediately around them was a wil- 
derness of trains, with noisy locomotives and shout- 
ing men. Regiments returning from veteran fur- 
lough, or entirely new ones, were disembarking with 
loud cheering, which was answered from the camps 
on the hillsides. On the river front steamboats 
were whistling and clanging their bells. 

The boys, too much awed for speech, clustered 
around Si and Shorty and cast anxious glances at 
their faces. 

‘'Great Jehosephat,’’ murmured Shorty. “They 
seem to be all here.” 

“No,” answered Si, as the cheers of a newly- 
arrived regiment rang out, “the back townships are 
still cornin’ in.” 

Monty Scruggs found tongue enough to quote: 

“And ships by thousands lay below. 

And men by nations, all were his.” 

“Where in time do you s’pose the 200th Injianny 
is in all this freshet of men and mules and bosses?” 
said Si, with an anxious brow. The look made the 
boys almost terror-stricken. They huddled together 


286 


SI KLEGG. 


and turned their glances toward Shorty for hope. 
But Shorty looked as puzzled as Si. 

'Tossibly,” he suggested to Si, “the conductor 
will take us further up into the town, where we kin 
find somebody that we know, who’ll tell us where 
the rijimint is.” 

“No,” said the conductor, who came back at that 
moment; “I can’t go no further with you. Just got 
my orders. You must pile right out here at once. 
They want the engine and empties in five minutes 
to take a load back to Nashville. Git your men out 
quick as you kin.” 

“Fall in,” commanded Si. “Single rank. Foller 
me and Corpril Elliott. Keep well closed up, for if 
you git separated from us goodness knows what’ll 
become o’ you iti this raft o’ men.” 

The passage through the crowded, busy railroad 
yard was bewildering, toilsome, exciting and dan- 
gerous. The space between the tracks was scarcely 
more than wide enough for one man to pass, and 
the trains on either side would be moving in differ- 
ent directions. On the tracks that the boys crossed 
trains were going ahead or backing in entire regard- 
lessness of them, and with many profane yells from 
the trainmen for them to get out of the way and 
keep out. Si only kept his direction by occasionally 
glancing over his shoulder and setting his face to 
walk in the direction away from Pulpit Rock, which 
juts out from the extremity of Lookout Mountain. 

At last, after a series of hair-breadth dodges, Si 
drew up his squad in an open space where the tracks 
crossed, and proceeded to count them. 



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